


These Two Clownshoes

by GutterBall



Series: These Two Clownshoes [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Chuck Lives, Chuck is a narcoleptic octopus, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cussing, Little bit of smut, M/M, Otherwise Canon, Raleigh is an unreliable narrator, Sickfic, Slow Burn, old movie spoilers, seriously so much cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 85,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chuck comes down with a virulent flu and makes himself impossible, Raleigh offers to step in to give Mako and Herc a breather, even though he's probably as welcome in Chuck's bunk as a new breed of kaiju. Chuck, however, is far more ill than he led everyone to believe, and Raleigh switches over to protective mode with a vengeance.</p><p>Shenanigans ensue. Like, a book's worth of shenanigans. I'm seriously.</p><p>EDITED TO ADD: Now with an extra chapter with how to make The Soup!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estei/gifts), [KittenKakt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKakt/gifts).



> This all started when [KittenKakt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKakt/pseuds/KittenKakt) made a comment on [Puppy Kisses](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6047407) to the effect that she knew it would end in sex because it started with Chuck naked in Raleigh's lap. My muse hates me, so it wanted a scenario where Naked Chuck in Raleigh's lap wouldn't (immediately) end up in sex.
> 
> This was supposed to be a quick little fic with Chuck coming down with, like, a mild cold or something and going full man-flu with it until Raleigh babies him through it. Then, Chuck insisted he was really, violently ill, and Raleigh got all worried. Somewhere around 30,000 words, I was like... uh, no. That's... that's not what's happening.
> 
> Which is when [estei](http://estei-feist.tumblr.com/) said she'd take a look at it to see if it was worth continuing. THIS IS ALL HER FAULT. These two clownshoes just kept talking, and she ENCOURAGED them.
> 
> Oh, and if you haven't read/seen _The Princess Bride_ or _House_ (the 1986 horror film), go watch them first. You should have already. Shame on you.
> 
> Also, QueenUndertheBloodyMountain wrote a companion piece to this one: [The Waiting Game](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7565497)! Cruise on over there after you read for a bit more "Chuck is an awkward turtle" goodness!
> 
> Edited to add: In response to several asks, yes, I am aware that Goldberg's "The Good Stuff" version is the only _The Princess Bride_ book. However, I owned that book for probably 10 years (I bought it well before internet was common) before googling for the "original" story and finding out that Goldberg was a genius, and I figured Raleigh wouldn't have any more reason to question it than I initially did. You gotta admit; it really is a well-done faux abridging.

"That is _it._ No. I can't do this anymore. _I quit!"_

Raleigh Becket had never heard Mako Mori use that particular tone before. She was yelling, as evidenced by the fact that he could hear her but not yet see her. And she was angry. In fact, if she were anyone else, he'd swear she was _fucking furious._

A metal door clanged. Someone's bunk door? Fast, hard footsteps stomped around, echoing in the curved, riveted hallways. Raleigh cocked his head to one side, trying to make out from the echo if she was coming his way.

And if he wanted to be here when she showed herself if she was.

And now she was... muttering? Unintelligibly muttering under her breath as she stomped through the halls. Incredible.

It wasn't that he thought Mako never got angry. Of course she got angry. She'd spent most of her life seeking revenge for her family. She knew anger.

But just stomping around, yelling and muttering?

Uncharacteristic.

Soon enough, she rounded the hallway and came into sight, and Raleigh realized his time to decide had just run out. "Hey, Mako."

_Do I do it?_

"Something wrong?"

_Dammit. I did it._

Her delicate jaw clenched, her eyes flashing as they met his and her fists clenching. "Nothing a case of duct tape and a spare plasma caster can't fix."

He blinked.

Heaving a sigh, she forced her shoulders to relax, closing her eyes and shaking her hands loose. "I'm sorry. I just... ugh!"

Concerned now, he frowned and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Not that he thought there was anything Mako couldn't handle. Just... she was really, really pissed.

"Can you snap your fingers and get Chuck Hansen over the flu?"

He blinked again. "Uh... maybe not at the same time?"

She snorted, then relaxed enough to actually chuckle. "I needed that. Thank you." Sighing again, she rolled her shoulders and let her head fall back. "I'm sorry. I just... the marshal can't stay with him all the time, so I thought I could help, but he is _impossible."_

"Wait, so he's really sick?"

He supposed it wasn't impossible, but Chuck just seemed... immune. To everything. The kid had lived through a nuclear explosion, for God's sake. Chuck Hansen was a goddamn cockroach like that. Raleigh couldn't quite get his mind around it.

"How did that happen?"

She slumped a bit, and he abruptly realized that she looked tired. Stressed. She'd borne up under the kaiju threat so well that he couldn't quite reconcile the reality of regular life draining her this badly. Just how sick _was_ Chuck?

"A particularly virulent strain is going around Hong Kong. Chuck must have dodged the vaccination."

Now that she mentioned it, he did remember being hectored over to the infirmary a month or so ago for a mandatory vaccination. He only remembered because he wasn't used to regular healthcare and had been oddly amused by the whole process. Much like his first bi-annual dental cleaning in five years.

"Anyway, he and the marshal went to the mainland for sundries last week, and he just... picked it up."

"Huh."

Chuck Hansen. Sick with the flu. And apparently being impossible about it to the point where both Hercules Hansen and Mako Mori couldn't handle him.

_Don't even think about it._

"Would it help if I took a shift?"

_Dammit, Raleigh!_

To her eternal credit, Mako didn't burst out laughing. She did look slightly appalled for a moment before neatly covering the expression. "I think... you and Chuck have never really... clicked. You might be more helpful spelling the marshal so he can spend more time with Chuck himself."

In other words, while he and Chuck hadn't come to blows since before Pitfall, they hadn't managed to find much common ground and mostly tried to stay out of each other's hair, so Raleigh would literally be more useful mailing, copying, and filing signed requisition forms than being anywhere near the younger Hansen. Sadly, he couldn't argue.

But Mako looked so _tired._

"Look, how about just for an hour or two? Just long enough for you to catch a nap and bring down your red?"

She looked tempted. She looked really, really tempted.

"What's the worst that can happen? If he pisses me off, I'll knock him out and we'll _all_ get a break."

Her mouth twitched, but she didn't allow herself to smile. "Disrespectful."

He shrugged. "But accurate."

The smile broke free. "True enough." She touched his arm. "Thank you, Raleigh. He is... difficult. Just... be prepared."

It had been a while since he took care of anyone but himself -- and he hadn't always done a bang-up job of that -- but as he leaned his forehead gently against hers, he already found himself making a mental list. He needed to hit the infirmary. And the kitchens.

So he sent Mako to her bunk to catch a catnap, visited his own to grab his tablet to keep himself entertained, then headed for the infirmary. The med techs brightened when he told them why he was there.

"There's a whole pallet around here somewhere. We'll get one of the techs to run a case over." The doctor shook her head. "If he'd just come here, we could set him up with an IV, but the marshal won't make him, and we _can't_ make him." Sighing, she rummaged around in a cabinet and pulled down a small, flat box with a frankly ridiculous amount of fine print covering it. "Antivirals. See if you can get him to take them. The instructions are on the back. They won't cure him overnight, but they'll shorten the sentence."

He frowned down at the pack. "Why isn't he already taking them?"

She rolled her eyes. "No one else came to ask us. Mr. Hansen wouldn't let them. Said he could get over it himself."

He grinned, ducking his head. "Probably a good thing I came here first, huh? Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission."

Snickering, she sent him on his way with promises to stay on call. All he had to do was text if he needed anything.

His next stop was the kitchens. Again, as soon as the staff knew the situation, most of them were on fire to do whatever they could to help. He couldn't help but be amused. If only Chuck knew how much everyone wanted to baby him. Too bad the big jerk was too stubborn to accept it.

Although, if Raleigh had his way, Chuck Hansen was by God getting helped whether he wanted it or not.

"Don't suppose you have a whole chicken to roast?"

The line cook shrugged skinny shoulders. "We always keep a stock." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the big freezer. "Only have enough thawed for fried chicken tonight, though."

Raleigh cheated. He made with the puppy eyes. "Can you spare just one? He's gonna need broth for a while, and I want to make some soup I used to make for my mom when she was recovering from chemotherapy."

The poor guy back-stepped so fast he tripped over his own words. "Yeah, no problem, Mr. Becket. Hell, I can thaw out another in the sink for tonight, if I have to. Whatever you need."

He felt a little bad for bringing his cancer-ridden mother into it, but it did get results. "Thank you so much, man. Can you stuff it with apple, lemon, and onion, rub it over and under the skin with butter and herbs, and just plain roast it for me? I'll come back to pick the meat and crockpot it later. Just keep it out of your way and go on about your business. I promise I'll clean up my mess when I'm done."

A passing chef handed him the plate of dry toast he'd asked for and a bunch of bananas. The little guy in front of him nodded and tipped his fingers to his white cap.

"No problem, Mr. Becket, sir. It'll be done in less than two hours."

He put up a hand. "No hurry. I told Mako I'd cover her so she could get some sleep. Don't interrupt what you were doing, man. Just... when you have a chance."

"Will do."

"Here ya go, Mr. Becket."

Another kitchen helper handed him a thermos, presumably full of the thin broth he'd requested. He didn't know if Chuck was throwing up or not, but between the broth and the bananas and toast and the delivery from the infirmary, he should have every angle covered.

"Thanks, guys. I appreciate it. Chuck will, too, when he's feeling better."

He left on a wave of "Anything we can do"s and "Don't worry about a thing"s, and he wasn't at all surprised to find the promised case of Pedialyte on Chuck's stoop. Grinning, he walked right on in without knocking, figuring to put everything down, then come back for the Pedialyte.

"Chuck? Hey, don't freak out, but I promised Mako I'd-- _Chuck!"_

The last thing he'd expected was to find his former nemesis sprawled naked on the floor, facedown and unconscious. His heart rate tripled, and he practically dropped his foodstuffs on the desk to run to the body and make sure "unconscious" was as bad as it got.

"Chuck, Jesus, what the hell?"

Two fingers to the neck proved the kid was alive, if practically on fire through his skin, and he calmed enough to realize the poor guy had passed out going from the bathroom back to the bed. Trying to ease his own breathing, he went back to the door he'd left wide open, pulled the case of Pedialyte inside, closed the door, and poked through the plastic to pull out a bottle. It wasn't especially cold, but he didn't think Chuck would care much at the moment.

"Chuck?" Settling on the floor, he rolled the heavy bastard to his back, then hauled him mostly into his lap so he was sitting up, ignoring the sweat rolling off the slippery skin. "Chuck, you need to wake up enough to drink this. I don't want you choking on it."

The body in his arms felt about a hundred degrees hotter than alright, but he ignored that for the moment and cracked open the bottle.

"C'mon, kid. Open up. You gotta help a little."

Groaning thickly and immediately breaking into weak, barking coughs, Chuck lurched in his grip and almost fell over. He was slippery, dammit.

"Easy, now. C'mon. Drink."

He readjusted, tipped the kid's head back, and poured a little Pedialyte between the slack, horribly chapped lips. Jesus. How had it gotten this bad? Mako wouldn't have left Chuck alone like this. How long had Raleigh been running around, setting things up?

Chuck coughed a little, then leaned up for another drink. Another. Raleigh held him to sips, but gave him as many as he wanted until the bottle was empty.

"Okay, kid. Lemme get you back into bed, and you can have some more."

"Thirsty." Damn. The kid sounded like he'd swallowed gravel.

"I know. There's plenty more where that came from. Just... whatever you do, don't flop around, okay?"

Because if the big jerk had damn near hurtled himself out of Raleigh's grasp just coughing on the floor, they were both going to end up hurt if it happened while Raleigh was carrying him.

Grunting, he shifted around until he was squatting, then firmed his grip and hefted the heavy bastard up of the floor. He hadn't deadlifted -- please, God, not a pun -- in years, but he managed enough oomph to stumble the few steps to the bed and lay the kid down on it. His back twinged a bit, but mission accomplished.

Now what.

Chuck started shivering, and Raleigh suddenly knew exactly what. He needed to wipe down all that sweat, then get the kid bundled under the covers. And another bottle of Pedialyte. He'd worry about broth and toast later.

A search under the sink in the bathroom revealed a plastic basin -- probably for the cleaning crew, but he guessed they wouldn't mind him repurposing it -- and a stack of plastic-wrapped sponges. Good enough. He ran the water good and hot and didn't bother with soap just yet. Then, ignoring whether or not Chuck would appreciate him getting this familiar, he gently sponged the kid off, patted him dry with a towel, then rolled him to his stomach to do the same for his back.

Chuck was practically shuddering by the time he was done, but he was clean and dry, and he'd feel a lot better for it when he was more aware. So, Raleigh rolled him under the covers and pulled them up to his chin, then pried out another bottle and tilted that big body up against his again for more sips.

More than once, he had to pause and let the kid hack up his lungs. Twice, he had to use the sponge to wipe away snot the poor guy couldn't help expelling. He didn't mind. His mother had coughed up far worse things during her last days.

But he didn't want to think about that right now. Hadn't thought of it in years.

Soon enough, another bottle was down and Chuck had damn near passed out again, so Raleigh tucked the blankets around him, fluffed up the pillow, and let him rest while he went about sorting his supplies. The Pedialyte went into the mini fridge first. The toast and bananas stayed in easy reach on the desk, but Raleigh moved the rolly chair closer to the bed and laid his tablet down on it for later.

He even checked the closet for more blankets, but only found one. When it was tucked around Chuck with the others, he sent a quick request to the laundry for at least two thermal blankets and an extra set of sheets, just in case. And another pillow, because Chuck's breathing was rough and awful and he didn't want the kid to get pneumonia on top of everything else.

Then, he settled down in the chair to wait.

It was harder than he expected. He'd almost rather Chuck be awake and contrary. Sitting silently by a bedside and listening to labored breathing was far too familiar and brought back a time in his life that he didn't like to remember.

But he'd do it. Because Chuck clearly needed it, and Mako and Herc couldn't be here 'round the clock and still function in their roles as marshal and deputy marshal without rest of their own.

So, he tapped his tablet on and settled back in the chair to read until Chuck woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ray?"

Blinking and sucking in a deeper than usual breath, Raleigh realized he'd almost been asleep with his eyes open. His tablet had gone blackscreen in his hands, even.

"Feeling better?"

"Feel like shit. The fuck are--" A lung-tearing spate of coughs ensued, and the kid fell back on his pillow to gasp and pant. "Fuck're you here?"

He'd already gotten up to get a fresh bottle of Pedialyte. Thinking fast, he poured a mug of broth and put it on the hot plate to warm it, then opened the antivirals and popped one out into his palm. "Just my turn in the barrel, I guess. Here, drink this."

He half-expected the kid to protest just on general principles, but apparently, thirst won out. Halfway through the bottle, Chuck actually opened his eyes enough to squint at the bottle in his hand.

"The fuck am I drinking?"

"Pedialyte."

There was the usual Hansen scowl. "This shit is for babies."

He shook his head and tested the broth. Just better than lukewarm. Perfect. "It's for anyone who's dehydrated. You weren't complaining when you were practically unconscious."

That got another scowl. "How long have you--" More coughs. "Fuck!"

"A couple of hours. Mako needed a break."

He couldn't be sure that was a blush, what with the kid's fever. But he strongly suspected.

"I can take care of myself."

He hadn't planned on mentioning the whole passed-out-on-the-floor thing, but.... "I'll be sure to remember that next time I find you sprawled naked on the floor."

The kid's eyes widened. "The fuck?"

"Never mind." No reason to beat him over the head with it. "Give this a try. Have you been vomiting?"

Grumbling, the brat actually accepted the mug, though he sniffed it before giving it a sip. "Not today." A grunt. "Yet."

"Well, give that a try and take this with it." He didn't bother letting him think about it. Just handed off the pill like he expected it to be accepted. "If it settles, I have some toast here, too."

Muttering under his still-wheezy breath, the kid tossed back the pill and sipped at the broth, trading between it and the Pedialyte. Raleigh watched for a while, then tapped his tablet back on and made a show of minding his own business. Maybe, if he was barely seen or heard, Chuck wouldn't cause a fuss and kick him out.

"It's fucking hot in here."

His mouth twitched. "It's really not. You have a fever."

"I do not."

He rolled his eyes. "Sweats and chills, kid. You have a fever."

"Don't call me kid."

"Don't call me Ray."

"Fuck you."

It was almost cheerful banter, compared to their usual interactions. Or lack thereof. After a long moment of silence interspersed with sips and coughs, Chuck sighed, sounding exhausted.

"The fuck are you reading?"

His mouth twitched again. _"The Princess Bride."_

Well, the "good stuff" version rather than the overly lengthy original satire, but Chuck didn't need to know that.

"You're shitting me."

Careful not to change the angle enough to switch the aspect, he showed off the page on his tablet. Chuck's eyes widened again.

"Why the fuck are you reading about princesses?"

He shrugged. "There was this movie when I was a kid. You being sick reminded me of it."

The worst spate of coughing yet bent the kid forward. If Raleigh hadn't lunged forward for the mug, Chuck would have been wearing the last three sips of broth. When he put his hand on the back of the poor guy's neck, the skin felt almost blisteringly hot.

"Easy, there." He tugged up the extra pillow laundry had sent up, then urged the kid to lean back against the pile. "Drink more Pedialyte. I'll be right back."

Gasping and pale except for hectic flares of red on his cheeks and neck, Chuck didn't argue. Probably not a good sign.

Worried, Raleigh went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cold water. He'd like to take the kid's temperature, but he hadn't thought to ask for a thermometer. Maybe the infirmary would send one over. Preferably an instant-read one, because Chuck would likely protest any actual diagnostics and insist he was fine.

The poor kid actually sighed with relief when Raleigh laid the folded cloth on his forehead. Sweat dotted his temples and upper lip. Sighing, Raleigh pulled down all the blankets but the bottom one.

"Thanks, mate. So fucking hot in here."

"No problem." Shifting a bit, he picked up his tablet and fiddled with it. "If you want, I could read out loud?"

A grunt. It didn't sound blatantly negative, so Raleigh hid a grin and turned the tablet on again, scrolling back to the beginning of the story.

"Chapter One: The Bride. The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette. Annette worked in Paris for the Duke and Duchess de Guiche, and it did not escape the Duke's notice that someone extraordinary was polishing the pewter."

He shot a measuring glance at Chuck, but the kid's eyes were closed, that big body slack with exhaustion.

"The Duke's notice did not escape the notice of the Duchess either, who was not very beautiful and not very rich, but plenty smart. The Duchess set about studying Annette and shortly found her adversary's tragic flaw." He gave the hard paragraph break its due pause, then smiled. "Chocolate."

Was that a hint of dimple? He thought it might be. So he kept reading.

And the time passed.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't protest when Mako's nap ran long, but he also didn't protest when she spelled him while Chuck was still asleep, his breathing less labored but still rough down in his lungs. He gave her a full report on finding him on the floor, making sure she knew the big jerk was far more ill than he had allowed her to believe.

Shaking her head, she huffed a sigh. The words "stubborn" and "jackass" might have been used. He'd never tell.

After he was sure she didn't mind finishing her turn, he left, though he headed for the kitchens instead of his bunk. The skinny chef from before greeted him with a much less harried expression and pointed to the foil-covered roasting dish on the back of the big range.

In no time, Raleigh had a quart-sized baggie of diced white meat and a little choice dark meat resting in the fridge, and he'd put the carcass in a crockpot with celery tops, several chunks of fresh ginger, a crushed head of garlic, and a splash of apple cider vinegar to really leach the minerals out of the bones, then filled the crock with water and set it out of the way on low. Thin broth and toast would keep Chuck from starving while his body was still purging, but he'd need something more substantial soon to rebuild his strength, and Raleigh had just the thing.

Or would, in about eight hours.

Until then, he needed a cup of tea with honey to soothe his throat from all the reading. Every time he'd thought Chuck asleep, some little facial movement -- a hint of a grin, a crease in the forehead from the start of a frown -- would clue him in that the kid was still listening. Unfortunately, Raleigh hadn't talked that much in a dog's years, and he was more than a little hoarse with it.

But he was soon put to rights, and after a shower and setting his alarm for several hours hence, he was ready for comfortable pajamas and an unheard of midday nap. Wrestling that big body around had worn him out, as had... just... _tending._ Thinking about the last time he'd tended someone so diligently. The last time someone in his care had been so helpless.

Frowning, he rolled to face the wall and forced himself to close his eyes. Maybe he wouldn't sleep -- _probably_ he wouldn't -- but he at least needed to rest. Chuck hadn't kicked him out, anyway, so he assumed he'd be taking another shift sometime soon.

Unfortunately, it felt like he'd only just dropped off when an annoying beeping dragged him up out of weird, disconnected dreams. For a moment, he thought he'd slept all the way to his alarm, which he'd never intended. Then, he realized it was just his array beeping and lay back with a sigh before reaching back overhead to find the touchscreen.

"Yeah?"

"Oi, Raleigh. I could use a hand."

Blinking, he sat up and turned to see Herc on the LED screen, looking harried and tired. Mako must have traded off with him. What the hell time was it, anyway?

"Is he worse?"

Herc sighed and wiped a hand over his face. "Maybe, yeah. He's... I think he's delirious, honestly. He got a bit fussed when he woke up and you weren't here. Said something about you reading to him and got pretty pissed off when I said you'd gone to get some sleep. He's not himself."

Blushing, he scratched a hand over the back of his neck. "Uh, not delirious. At least, not about me reading to him. Is his fever back up?"

"Won't let me take it, even with the instant read. Threw it across the room."

He ran a hand over his face, slumping. "I'm sure the infirmary will send up another." He shot a glance at the clock. It had only been an hour since he laid down, but.... "Look, gimme a minute to pull myself together, and I'll come spell you. Has he thrown up the broth from earlier?"

Herc blinked. "You got him to drink broth?"

 _Raleigh_ blinked. "Would he not before?"

The marshal huffed. "I could barely get _water_ down him. What the hell did you do to him? You got him to eat, sort of, got him to sleep...?"

It... hadn't even been that hard. What the hell _had_ he done?

Apparently, barging in and just doing the thing worked. He supposed he'd have to do it again.

"I take it that means he didn't throw it up?"

"Not that I know of, mate." Still looking almost in awe, Herc shrugged. "He only just woke up a bit ago, but Mako didn't mention it, so I assume not."

Groaning and stretching, Raleigh abandoned his bed, then decided to just stay in his pajamas and maybe throw on a hoodie. No reason to get dressed if he was just going to be hauling a sweaty Chuck around and maybe getting puked on.

"Okay. I'll be there in a bit. Where is he now?"

"Bathroom." Herc rolled his eyes. "Diarrhea. Not that I'm supposed to know that. Wouldn't let me help, of course."

He grinned a bit. "Of course."

"Raleigh?"

"Hm?"

Herc fidgeted. "Just... thank you. I dunno what you did, but... he's a lot worse off than we thought, and whatever you're doing is helping, yeah?"

Embarrassed somehow, he shrugged uncomfortably. "Just doing my part."

Nodding, Herc signed off, leaving Raleigh standing awkwardly and wondering just what he'd gotten himself into. He supposed it didn't matter. If he was needed, he might as well be up to the task.

So, he stopped at the kitchen for a box of tea, a bottle of honey, and an extra mug. He had a feeling he'd be needing to soothe his throat shortly.

Herc met him at the door, looking just as tired and harried as on the screen. "He's asking for you." The ginger head shook and the poor guy actually scrubbed at both eyes with the heels of his hands. "Never seen anything like it. It's like he's six years old again and wanting his... his mum."

Uh-oh. If Herc was this worried, it couldn't be good. But that wasn't what the marshal needed to hear.

So he clapped a hand down on a broad shoulder. "Why don't you go get some sleep? I can stay a few more hours, and you look almost as tired as he probably is."

Herc started to protest, but Raleigh squeezed his hand.

"Go on. He'll be okay. I promise."

Not looking terribly comforted, Herc nevertheless nodded and slipped past him, closing the door behind him. Letting his reassuring façade fall, Raleigh looked over at where Chuck shifted restlessly under the pile of covers. He was sleeping, but only just.

Before settling down, he typed in a request to the infirmary for another instant-read thermometer and a couple of ice packs, retrieved two bottles of Pedialyte from the fridge, and poured another mug of broth for the hotplate. The toast had gone hard, so he threw it away, but he brought a banana over closer to the bed, just in case.

When everything was situated, he sat right next to the bed and schooled his expression. "You awake?"

The restless tossing slowed. Chuck's head turned his way, but the kid's eyes stayed closed.

"Reading, it is." Sighing, he tapped on the tablet and cleared his throat. "Buttercup did not know how long she was out, but they were still in the boat when she blinked, the blanket shielding her."

Quieting completely, the poor guy slumped back against the pillows and sighed, his breathing still harsh and noisy.

"And this time, without daring to think -- the Sicilian would have known it somehow -- she threw the blanket aside and dove deep into Florin Channel."

Bleary eyes blinked open, closed, blinked open, closed again.

"She stayed under as long as she dared and then surfaced, starting to swim across the moonless water with every ounce of strength remaining to her. Behind her in the darkness there were cries."

Grinning a little, he did his best imitations of Wallace Shaw, Mandy Patinkin, and Andre the Giant.

"'Go in, go in!' from the Sicilian. 'I only dogpaddle' from the Turk. 'You're better than I am' from the Spaniard."

"Ray?" Damn if the kid didn't sound relieved, if hoarse as hell. "Thought you left."

"Just needed a breather. Drink your Pedialyte."

What the hell. It had worked last time.

Sure enough, once Raleigh cracked the seal, Chuck drank without argument.

"Think you're up for some more broth?"

He couldn't be sure that was an assenting noise, but he decided to assume it was and went to touch-test it. Lukewarm. Just right.

"Here ya go. Want me to keep reading while you drink?"

That definitely was an assenting noise. Hiding his grin, he settled back in the rolly chair.

"'Princess,' the Sicilian called, 'do you know what happens to sharks when they smell blood in the water? They go mad. There is no controlling their wildness. They rip and shred and chew and devour, and I'm in a boat, Princess, and there isn't any blood in the water now, so we're both quite safe, but there _is_ a knife in my hand, my lady, and if you don't come back, I'll cut my arms and I'll cut my legs and I'll catch the blood in a cup and I'll fling it as far as I can and sharks can smell blood in the water for miles and you won't be beautiful for long.'"

Eyes wide and bloodshot, Chuck sipped at his broth and occasionally took a drink of Pedialyte. Herc hadn't been kidding. He really did look like he'd regressed to childhood.

"'If you come back now,' the Sicilian went on, 'I give you my word as a gentleman and assassin that you will die totally without pain. I assure you, you will get no such promise from the sharks.'"

The look on Chuck's face reminded Raleigh so strongly of the movie that he paused and again hid a grin. "She doesn't get eaten by the sharks."

The kid frowned. "What?"

_Don't grin. Don't grin. Do not grin._

"You look a little worried. I just wanted you to know that she doesn't get eaten."

Chuck snorted, then instantly regretted it as snot covered his upper lip. "Aw, fuck. Look what you did."

Rolling his eyes, he plucked a few tissues from the box on the desk and handed them over. "This is my gratitude. Nice, Chuck. Real nice."

"Fuck you." He blew his nose noisily, coughed a few times, then slumped back against the pillows. "I wasn't fucking worried."

"Whatever."

"Shut up and read, asshole."

His mouth twitched. "As you wish."

"What the fuck?"

Mouth still twitching, he returned his attention to the tablet screen. "Nothing. Drink your broth."

And the reading went on.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh, fuck. Oh, _fuck!"_

Jerking out of a light sleep and sending the tablet to the floor, Raleigh sat up to find Chuck tearing at the blankets and... crying?

Fuck, the kid was actually crying.

"Oh, fuck, I fucking did it, Jesus Christ on a--"

"Chuck, it's okay!" He grabbed the poor guy by the shoulders to keep him from falling out of bed as the covers stuck to him. "What's wrong?"

Pale and hollow-eyed, tears streaking his cheeks, Chuck tried to put his hands over his face but was balked by Raleigh's grip.

And then the smell hit him.

_Oh._

"It's okay. It happens sometimes."

On one hand, the fact that Chuck had literally shat the bed was a sign that he'd fallen asleep deeply enough to relax and actually rest. On the other hand, the kid looked horrified at himself.

Well, none of that.

"It's just diarrhea, Chuck. It washes off." Making no bones about it, he peeled the sweaty blankets away and wrapped an arm around the kid's heaving back. "Let's get you into the shower. You're all sweaty, anyway."

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was going to happen. Fuck, I--"

"Sssh." It took most of his strength, but he got the poor guy to his feet and hauled him toward the bathroom. "Don't worry about it. Just between you and me, okay?"

Exhausted and clinging, Chuck tried to help, but Raleigh did most of the work getting them there. He settled the poor kid on the toilet, then fiddled with the shower knobs until the water was hot but not steaming. Irritably wiping snot from under his nose and tears from his cheeks, Chuck didn't even try to struggle when Raleigh hefted him up again. He just settled on the floor of the shower and let the water cascade over him, head hanging.

"Here you go." He handed him the washcloth and soap. "I'm gonna go change the sheets so they'll be nice and fresh when you're done. Nothing better than clean sheets when you've been as sick as you have."

He didn't wait for an answer that wouldn't likely come. Chuck was sick enough to not be able to control himself but not so sick that he wasn't humiliated by shitting all over himself and his sheets. Sadly, Raleigh had dealt with much the same with his mother after some of the more aggressive chemotherapy. He wasn't afraid of a little shit.

He did, however, pin on an apology note for the laundry, explaining that Chuck was ill and they should probably use gloves for this one, before sending the wad of sheets and the lower blanket down the chute.

When he had the bed all made and tidy again and the blankets all resorted, he went to check on Chuck, only to find him trying to wash his hair with the bar of soap. Softening all over again, he shook his head.

"Here, lemme help."

Too tired -- or too mortified -- to refuse, the kid sat there on the tiles while Raleigh reached for actual shampoo, then crouched down just outside the worst of the spray and scrubbed it in.

"Oi, fuck, that feels good."

Grinning a little, he gave a little extra massage with the scrubbing. "Headache?"

"Like you wouldn't believe, mate."

He nodded, tilting the poor guy's head further into the spray to rinse. "Probably sinus pressure. You're still pretty congested."

Nodding tiredly, Chuck didn't protest when Raleigh gave his squeaky clean head another good rubbing, without the shampoo this time. He didn't even protest when Raleigh shut off the water, wrapped a towel around his now-shivering shoulders, and used another towel to scrub at his hair, being as gentle as he could be. The poor kid even sighed with wheezy relief when Raleigh helped him scoot between clean sheets and heavy blankets and tucked him back in, fluffing the pillows to keep him from lying flat while he was still so mucusy.

He left the kid sipping at another bottle of Pedialyte and went back to the bathroom to tidy up and to wet two cloths with cool water. The infirmary had sent up a box full of instant cold packs, and as he settled in the rolly chair, he popped the packets inside two of them, smooshed them around until they started to cool, then wrapped them in the damp cloths. He put one at the back of Chuck's neck where he lay back against the pillows and one across his heated forehead.

"Oh, fuck me."

"Better?"

"You're a fucking wizard."

Grinning and oddly pleased by the comment, he peeled a banana and broke off a chunk. "Try to eat this. See if it settles."

The kid sighed and coughed weakly. "God, Ray, I dunno if I wanna risk throwing up again."

"How long has it been?"

"Fuck if I know. Before you showed up the first time, I reckon."

That was definitely good to know. "Just try a bite or two. If it doesn't taste right or settles rough on your stomach, you don't have to eat anymore and we'll stick with broth."

Chuck ended up eating half the banana before the chills set in and Raleigh quickly removed the ice packs to bundle him up in thermal blankets. He heated another mug of broth, making a mental note to send to the kitchens for more until his own was ready.

Then, he sat back and started reading again, more as a distraction for Chuck than because he thought the kid really cared about the story.

"'Hello there,' Inigo hollered when he could wait no more. The man in black glanced up and grunted. 'I've been watching you.' The man in black nodded. 'Slow going,' Inigo said." Raleigh grinned. His British accent was almost as bad as his Spanish one, but he planned to give it his best. "'Look, I don't mean to be rude,' the man in black said finally, 'but I'm rather busy just now, so try not to distract me.'"

Chuck sipped his broth, huddling in the blanket nest and watching Raleigh read with sleepy eyes.

"'I'm sorry,' Inigo said. The man in black grunted again. 'I don't suppose you could eh-speed things up,' Inigo said. 'If you want to speed things up so much,' the man in black said, clearly quite angry now, 'you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find some other helpful thing to do.'"

The kid snorted, again regretting it immediately. Raleigh handed over a handful of tissues without comment.

"'I could do that,' Inigo agreed. 'But I don't think you would accept my help, since I'm only waiting up here so I can kill you.' 'That does put a damper on our relationship,' the man in black said then. 'I'm afraid you'll just have to wait.'"

Bleary eyes closed, and Raleigh read on through the swordfight. The text of the book left out the witty banter between Inigo and the man in black, making it narration instead of dialogue, so instead of reading directly, he quoted from the movie as best he could. He hadn't seen it since he was a kid, but some things just didn't go away.

Best of all, while Chuck mostly dozed through it, he was clearly still listening, as evidenced by the occasional grin or frown or tensing of the fists balled up in the blankets. In fact, the kid didn't drop off again until the man in black clubbed Inigo over the head and ran off after the princess and her other captors.

Grinning, Raleigh tapped off the tablet's screen and went to quietly make himself a cup of tea. He definitely needed it. He was almost as hoarse as Chuck.

But worth it somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

"If he wakes up cranky again, I'll be in the kitchens."

Mako frowned. "And when will _you_ sleep?"

Fighting a yawn, Raleigh shrugged. "I caught a couple of naps while he slept." Nothing in the universe would drag the whole diarrhea incident out of him. He'd promised. "He kept some banana down, so he's ready for more than just broth, and he needs to get some strength back."

She eyed him almost suspiciously. "Why are you doing this?"

He blinked, caught without an easy answer. Because he could? Because Chuck, for whatever reason, had imprinted on him in his illness and refused anyone else, like an angry and woefully confused duckling? Because he was bored? Because it was nice to feel useful?

Yes to one. Yes to all.

So, he shrugged again, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "Because he needs it?"

Since it was an answer she couldn't argue with -- Chuck was clearly too sick to take care of himself -- she gave in and let him leave. He headed straight for the kitchens, figuring it had been close enough to "overnight" that the broth should be nice and strong.

The kitchen staff was full of questions about how Mr. Hansen was doing, if there was any improvement. They all seemed genuinely relieved when told the kid had held down some solid food, even if it was just half a banana. Thus, they brought Raleigh everything he asked for, then stepped back and let him do his thing while they cleaned up for the night. Soon enough, he stood alone in a puddle of cold, fluorescent light, the irregular ticking of cooling metal from the ovens the only sound besides his chopping and stirring.

It was just like old times as he strained the bones and pieces out of the broth, smelling that good, rich chicken smell. The mineral-rich broth was easily double-strength, so he separated out about half of it into containers to freeze for later, then diluted the rest in a stock pot. As it came to boil on the stovetop, he peeled and chopped potatoes, carrots, celery, and an onion and scraped them all into the pot with a generous handful of the diced chicken he'd reserved earlier. He added minced garlic -- a natural antibiotic -- and minced fresh ginger -- it should help with the diarrhea -- and a dash of several favorite herbs. Kosher salt, since sea salt was in short supply around the Rim even now. Fresh-cracked pepper, which should help clear the sinuses.

It was as close to "health in a pot" as he could make without actually dumping medicine into it, but it had worked wonders for helping his mother regain her strength after the worst nausea faded from the chemotherapy, and he thought it would probably help Chuck, too. And if he nodded off a bit while sitting on a stool by the stove and listening to the soup simmer, well, he wanted the vegetables soft enough to barely require chewing, anyway.

When he deemed it done, he boxed it up in little plastic containers, made more toast, washed the stockpot -- he'd already cleaned up his vegetable ends and wiped down the counters before sitting down -- and made sure the range was off. Then, he stacked everything together in a cardboard box with the single-serve tubs of applesauce he'd requested and headed back to Chuck's bunk, turning out the last light as he left.

Mako clearly wanted to protest him taking yet another shift, but it was the wee hours of the morning at this point, and she had work to attend to all day and really needed the rest. As did Herc. So Raleigh found himself stowing away little boxes of soup in the mini fridge when Chuck awoke enough to start muttering and shifting.

"Hey, just in time for breakfast."

He set yet another bottle of Pedialyte -- he ought to see if the infirmary had any different flavors before Chuck got tired of this one -- and a saucer of toast in Chuck's lap and scruffed his hair, relieved that it still felt clean. Maybe the worst of the sweats were over.

"Oh, and take this." He popped another antiviral out of its little plastic bubble and handed it over. "Feeling any better?"

He wasn't sure the muttering contained any actual words, but Chuck did take the pill and drank his Pedialyte and ate his dry toast without real protest. He still coughed pretty regularly, and it still sounded like an angry seal protesting a lack of fish, but when Raleigh put the back of his hand to the pale forehead, he was relieved that it was warm but not hot. Low-grade temperature, at best.

Satisfied, he cracked open a tub of applesauce and settled into the rolly chair to eat it. It had occurred to him at some point that he'd been so set on making sure Chuck stayed hydrated and as fed as possible that he'd forgotten to eat all day. He wouldn't do anyone any good if he ran himself down taking care of someone else.

"This toast tastes weird."

He grinned. "No, it doesn't. You're just too clogged up to smell."

"Fuck you."

"If you eat both pieces, I'll share my applesauce."

A wheezy, oddly bubbly grunt. "Don't want it."

Smirking, Raleigh deployed his secret weapon. "It'll help with the diarrhea."

"Then why the fuck am I choking down toast?"

He snickered and handed over the rest of his applesauce, then got himself a few pieces of toast and started a cup of tea.

"Why are you still here?"

Shooting the kid a look, he fiddled with the tag on the teabag and waited for the water to boil. "You want me to leave?"

"No." The denial was quick and vehement. "No, just... thought I'd run you off earlier."

_Oh, Chuck._

Melting a little, he shrugged. The hotplate was taking forever. "Did you know Yance... Yancy and I took care of our mother while she was dying of cancer? Jazmine was really too young to help. Besides, she was in school." He shook his head. It was hard to talk about that time in his life. Most times of his life, actually. "Yance and I never really cared about our grades, but we wanted better for her."

That big body shifted, the air suddenly heavy. "Never heard that part."

"Chemotherapy is... hard. Takes a lot out of you." He swallowed hard, refusing to look at Chuck. "It's more than just losing your hair and throwing up a lot. It... it's _debilitating."_

Silence until the water in his mug finally started to boil. He turned off the hotplate and added the bag and some honey, then forced a smile that couldn't look happy as he took his seat by the bed.

"Just... you'd be surprised how easily stuff washes off as long as the person underneath is still okay."

He didn't mean to say that. At least, he didn't mean for Chuck to hear it. But it was out there, now, and for all that he was clearly still a bit out of it, the kid seemed to understand.

"So... another chapter?"

Chuck nodded silently, so Raleigh sat his mug on the floor beside the chair and picked up his tablet.

"Westley, indeed, had not the least idea that he was racing dead into the Fire Swamp. He knew only, once Buttercup was down at the ravine bottom beside him, that to climb out would take, as Prince Humperdinck had assumed, too much time. Westley noted only that the ravine bottom was flat rock and heading in the general direction he wanted to follow."

The kid settled back against the pillows, the cup of applesauce finished and set aside on the desk behind his head, the bottle of Pedialyte held loosely in both hands.

"So he and Buttercup fled along, both of them very much aware that gigantic forces were following them, and, undoubtedly, cutting into their lead."

And as the princess and the man in black bickered gently back and forth -- the original author had inserted a note that, while their reunion was conspicuously absent from the text, he only left it out because, despite their genuine love (or because of it), they were bickering within fifteen minutes of said blissful reunion -- Raleigh couldn't help but be amused by the snark. Ever since he'd first read the "good stuff" abridged version of the lengthy novel from movie he'd loved as a kid, he'd decided that bickering was perhaps the truest sign of real love in the world.

As far as he was concerned, a couple that never argued was a couple that never actually spoke to each other. Buttercup and Westley were priceless in their snark and a far more realistic couple because of it. They always got over it and still loved each other anyway.

So, with a grin, he all but forgot about Chuck as the couple raced into the Fire Swamp.

"Most particularly though, the Florin/Guilder Fire Swamp was used to frighten children. There was not a child in either country that at one time or another was not, when misbehaving very badly, threatened with abandonment in the Fire Swamp. 'Do that one more time, you're going to the Fire Swamp' is as common as 'Clean your plate; people are starving in China.'"

Chuck snorted, not instantly regretting it for once. "Mum used to say people were starving in the bush and I should be grateful. She quit when I told her I'd be happy to pack up my Brussels sprouts and send them inland if it helped her sleep at night."

He laughed. "I am not surprised at all to hear that."

"Can I get a sip of your tea? I am so fucking sick of Pedialyte."

He supposed it couldn't hurt. It was just chamomile, nothing with any caffeine that might upset a recovering stomach. So, he relinquished his mug and grabbed himself a bottle of Pedialyte instead. No way was he drinking after Chuck. Just because he'd been vaccinated didn't mean he intended to push his luck.

So, with the kid sipping tea and nodding off every now and again, Raleigh read them through the Fire Swamp and didn't stop until Westley was captured on the other side and he saw that Chuck was fast asleep.

Grinning, he quietly washed out the mug and made himself another cup of tea.


	6. Chapter 6

Raleigh jerked awake when he realized the quiet moans he'd been subconsciously registering were accompanied by thrashing and labored, bubbly, pained breathing. It wasn't dark enough in the room to not see the sweat streaming down Chuck's flushed face or the strain of his throat as he tried to breathe without choking on the air.

"Shit, shit, _shit."_

His heart rate tripled, and he leapt out of the chair to text the infirmary that Chuck's fever was spiking and he was in acute distress. Then, he popped a couple of icepacks and didn't bother wrapping them in damp cloths before applying one to the streaming, bright red forehead and the other to the back of Chuck's neck.

Unfortunately, the kid was thrashing hard enough that it was difficult to hold everything in place.

"Chuck, please, calm down. It's okay. You're gonna be okay."

But all that did was convince the poor guy to snag a handful of Raleigh's hoodie and hold on for dear life, trying to roll over against him. The tangled blankets restricted his efforts, so Raleigh threw them off down to the foot of the bed, not caring that Chuck was naked under them, and shoved the pillows aside to crawl in behind, pulling the broad, heaving, burning back up against his chest. His hoodie and t-shirt soaked through unpleasantly fast, but Chuck dropped his head back onto Raleigh's shoulder and gasped and choked, trying to breathe through the funk in his lungs, coughing almost constantly.

Holding the ice packs in place as best he could, he didn't argue when Chuck snatched two handfuls of his pajama pants over his thighs and held on as tight as he could. He coughed and shuddered, sweating and miserable, and Raleigh murmured nothings and held him upright, hoping the ice packs would bring this worst spike yet down before real damage was done.

"Ray... fuck... can't breathe--"

"Sssh. It's okay, Chuck, everything's okay--"

"--can't... fucking... breathe... don't wanna... die like this...."

Raleigh went cold, despite the overheated body weighing him down. "You're not gonna die. I won't let that happen, okay? You're gonna be fine. It's just a fever spike. We'll bring it down. Just keep breathing. I know it hurts, but keep breathing, okay?"

Ripping coughs erupted, hunching that big body forward. Raleigh went with it, abandoning the pack at the back of Chuck's neck to rub soothingly up and down one sweaty arm. Globs of cloudy mucus flew, but Raleigh ignored them. He'd clean them up later.

"That's right. Cough up as much as you can. Get it out."

God, he hoped this wasn't pneumonia. He'd tried to keep the kid upright, but what if it hadn't been enough? He'd sounded a little bubbly earlier, but nothing like this.

Exhausted after the latest spate, Chuck slumped forward, so Raleigh manhandled him back again, where he leaned heavily against Raleigh's front, lethargic, his breathing wet and ragged. He searched around for the fallen ice pack and replaced it, using Chuck's weight to hold it in place so he could wrap an arm tight under the heaving chest.

"Hurts." More coughing. "Fuck, Ray, hurts all over."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll get you some ibuprofen in a bit. It should help." He had no idea if Chuck had ibuprofen in his medicine cabinet or not, but if not, the infirmary absolutely had some. "And some more Pedialyte."

The kid groaned, turning his hot, damp face to rest against Raleigh's neck. The ice pack was a freezing contrast against Raleigh's jaw, but he didn't dare move it.

"I know, but you need to stay hydrated. And when your temp is down, we'll get you another shower and some fresh sheets, and you'll feel about a million times better, okay? I promise."

"Fuck, I hate this."

"I know."

The poor guy slumped, too tired for more words. After a while, there was a knock at the door. Chuck tensed briefly, but he was too exhausted to stay that way for long. Thinking quick, Raleigh shifted to reach down and pull one of the blankets up to cover the kid's waist. God, he hoped someone had come up from the infirmary to check on them after that text.

"Come in!"

Sure enough, it was the doctor he'd spoken to the first day. She didn't blink to find Raleigh holding the patient up. She just took in the ice packs, the rolling sweat, and Chuck's general flushed lethargy and nodded.

"No problem."

She bustled in, getting the kid to swallow some ibuprofen she'd brought with some Pedialyte, then dumped a bottle of rubbing alcohol into the plastic basin. She topped it off with cold water and sponged off Chuck's chest, neck, and arms. The alcohol really brought the heat off fast, and soon enough, the kid slumped entirely, practically unconscious but no longer actively sweating.

"Pretty sure he was up around a hundred and three or four, there."

Raleigh nodded. "That was the worst one yet." It was hard to meet the doctor's eyes, but he did it. "Scared the hell out of me. Is it pneumonia? He could barely breathe."

She leaned down and pressed her ear to Chuck's chest, listening carefully. Apparently, she'd run off without her stethoscope.

"Maybe. It sounds pretty wet in there, but not as bad as his coughing suggests." She straightened. "Did you get him to take the antivirals?"

"Yeah." He set aside the ice pack and swiped the kid's hair back off his damp forehead. "I got two down him. He seemed so much better this morning. I thought they were helping."

"Hey, hey, they are." She sat in the rolly chair and offered the bottle of Pedialyte. "I think that was his fever breaking, which should put him on the downhill side, okay? The spike probably scared him, triggering a sort of panic attack. But he's breathing easier already and the fever is down."

She touched two fingers to Chuck's wrist, eyeing her watch as she counted. While she was occupied, Raleigh carefully tilted Chuck's head just so, pouring in sips of the drink until the kid swallowed.

"Should I have just carried him down to the infirmary? I feel like I fucked up somewhere."

She smiled a bit and let go, apparently satisfied with Chuck's heart rate. "Pretty sure that if you had, he'd have just dragged himself right back out the second you turned your back. You're doing fine, Mr. Becket."

"Just Raleigh, please."

She nodded. "Raleigh. Don't worry. He's young and strong and not prone to illness. And he's clearly survived much worse. He's going to be fine, okay?" Checking her watch for the time this time, she stood up. "I think I'll just nip out before he wakes up and gets irritated at you for calling in the recruits. I have rounds starting in half an hour. If his temperature goes up again, call me, but it shouldn't."

Nodding, he got another few swallows of Pedialyte down.

"Just keep doing what you're doing. If his breathing gets worse, we can switch him to antibiotics and see if that helps. Keep him as quiet as you can, let him rest, see if you can't keep him hydrated. I already see toast and applesauce, and I saw the soup in the fridge. All good things." She reached out and touched Raleigh's arm until he looked at her. "You're doing fine. He's going to be alright. Okay?"

He nodded again, finally starting to feel reassured. "Okay. Sorry for calling you up here."

"Don't be." She patted at her pockets, then put a bottle of ibuprofen on the desk. "Remember, I'm always on call. If his condition changes, text me again. Whatever time, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you."

She patted his shoulder, put the back of her hand briefly to Chuck's forehead, then left, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Jesus, Chuck." The kid was well and truly out cold, though, and didn't stir. "Don't scare me like that again, okay?"

Sighing and slumping back against the low headboard, Raleigh held his unconscious former rival against him and stroked his fingers through matted, sweaty hair, hoping the gesture was soothing. He could go for a little soothing himself, but this would have to do.

It had been a long morning.


	7. Chapter 7

When Raleigh woke up, Mako was sitting quietly in the rolly chair, idly scrolling on her tablet and sipping a cup of tea. Chuck had shifted to his side at some point, curling up against Raleigh's chest and clutching the arm Raleigh had wrapped around him. Either they'd pulled up several blankets at some point or Mako had done it for them, because it was almost unpleasantly hot under all the weight. But Chuck seemed comfortable, so Raleigh didn't complain.

Even though the kid was literally drooling on him.

"Mako?"

She looked up from her tablet and smiled softly. "It looked like you needed the rest almost as much as he did."

Sighing, he used the hand he'd rested on Chuck's neck to rub at his eyes. "Rough morning."

"So the doctor told us. He seems better now, though."

Indeed, Chuck seemed to be resting easily. Unfortunately, now that he was awake enough to be aware, Raleigh could definitely stand to take a piss, and there was no way to ease out from under all that bulk without waking the poor kid up. Well, he'd just have to hold it. Chuck needed the sleep more than he needed to drain the lizard.

"You should get out for a while, Raleigh. You look exhausted."

He sighed. "I don't think now is the best time. This last spike really took it out of him, and the doctor said to keep him as quiet as possible."

He didn't want to explain that Chuck had latched onto him for whatever reason and hadn't even wanted his own father in the room earlier. Apparently, he didn't have to because Mako only nodded.

"How long have you been here?"

"About an hour. The marshal stopped in to check on you both earlier, too, but he had a videoconference he couldn't move."

He nodded, idly running a hand through Chuck's hair, reminded by its admittedly gross feel that the kid needed a shower and a change of bedding when he woke up.

"Look, we're okay here for a while, and Chuck'll want a shower when he wakes up, which I know he won't want anyone around for. Why don't you go on back to work? I can take care of this. No reason for you to get further behind than you already are."

"Raleigh--"

Chuck frowned and turned further into Raleigh's chest. Raleigh shushed him, combed fingers through his matted hair, squeezed his arm around him a bit until he settled.

Mako sighed and shook her head, lowering her voice. "I never meant for you to become indispensible, you know."

He grinned tiredly. "Neither did I. I honestly don't know what I did, but it wouldn't be fair to just abandon the kid now."

"I feel like I'm abandoning _you."_

He blinked, surprised. "No reason to feel like that. I volunteered."

"I know, I know." Sighing again, she stood. "And you're right. He wouldn't want me here to drag him into the shower. Just... if you need anything...?"

Nodding, he smiled a bit. "We'll be fine. Don't worry." The smile twisted to a smirk. "I'll take care of Chuck so you and Herc can take care of the world. Deal?"

She smirked, too. "I think the world is less trouble."

Harking back to their earlier conversation, he shook his head. "Disrespectful."

"But accurate."

Still smirking, he didn't argue. She reached over and scruffed his hair, put two bottles of Pedialyte and his tablet in easy reach on the rolly chair beside the bed, then left them alone with a last little wave. Tired all over again, he slumped back against the headboard and considered the situation.

He definitely needed a pee break, but Chuck was heavy and warm -- but thankfully not overly hot, despite how humid it was under the blankets -- against him, still heavily asleep. The kid snorted occasionally but was mostly mouth-breathing because of his clogged sinuses. If the earlier episode had been exhausting for Raleigh, he couldn't imagine how much it had taken out of Chuck.

So, he'd stay put until Chuck woke up on his own. Even though his left leg was a little numb. And he was kind of hungry. And seriously needed to piss.

None of which mattered with Chuck sleeping peacefully, his mouth-breathing much less labored and bubbly, on his chest.

Eventually, he let himself fall into something of a doze, running his fingers through sweat-gritty hair and idly wondering if the kid might be ready for actual soup when he woke up. He wasn't quite asleep, so he knew instantly when Chuck started to rouse himself.

"Ray?" The kid was hoarse as hell.

"Still here."

They were quiet a moment.

Then: "Why are you cuddling me?"

Huffing, he felt himself blushing. "Your fever spiked, then broke, and you might have pneumonia. I was trying to keep you upright enough to breathe while you were thrashing. The pillows weren't cutting it."

"Oh. Right." A pause. "Shit, was I drooling?"

He considerately ignored the question. "You ready for a shower?" He scruffed his fingers through that gross, clumpy hair. "Not gonna lie, kid; you're pretty ripe."

"Ratbag."

"Just being honest. You'll feel better when you're clean and dry and on clean sheets."

Sighing -- it ended in a bit of a cough, but nothing like earlier, which Raleigh chalked up as a win -- the kid shifted his legs. "That did feel better before. Just... don't take this wrong, but I'm really fucking comfortable right now, and I haven't been comfortable since... fuck, I don't even know. Since I got sick."

Jesus. That was a downright compliment, especially coming from Chuck Hansen. Pleasantly surprised, he made a quick decision he hoped he didn't regret later.

"I'll make you a deal."

"Ugh, fuck."

He chuckled. "Let's get you in the shower while I change the bedding. Then, while you eat some soup, I'll take a shower and get changed because I'm pretty sure I smell as bad as you do. When I'm done, you can use me as your body pillow all you want while I read a few more chapters. Deal?"

"Ugh, I don't want any more broth. It's as bad as the goddamn Pedialyte."

"No, no." Another scruff through ginger hair. "I made this stuff myself. An old family recipe."

Grunting, the kid heaved himself up enough to look at him. "You made soup."

He grinned and nodded.

"When the fuck did you do that?"

"You were asleep. Mako spelled me so I could go to the kitchens."

Blinking and hollow-eyed -- Chuck had definitely lost weight in what could only have been a couple of days of sickness -- the kid grunted. "Huh."

"So... shower?"

Chuck slumped. "Yeah. I still can't smell anything, but I feel all gross, so I probably reek like something died."

_Yeah, but you didn't. I promised._

But he had no intention of saying anything like that, so he scooted out from under the poor kid and off the bed, then shook his legs out for a minute as pins and needles settled in. And the urge to piss increased exponentially.

"Actually, can you give me a minute before I haul you in there? I gotta take a leak something fierce."

"Yeah, mate. Take your time." A weak grin. "I'm not going anywhere."

Snorting and relieved at the truth of the statement -- Chuck was obviously better than he'd been that morning -- Raleigh headed for the bathroom.


	8. Chapter 8

"Jesus, Ray, this is amazing. I can actually fucking taste it."

Grinning, Raleigh couldn't help but feel chuffed by the statement as the kid shoveled another heaping spoonful into his mouth. "That would be the ginger, garlic, and fresh pepper. Your breath will be approximately three feet long, but if that doesn't unclog your sinuses, nothing will."

So saying, he moved the tissue box closer, then headed for the shower. Since he'd neglected to bring himself a change of clothes, Chuck had graciously offered some of his own pajamas after picking his favorites for himself. Now that the kid's temperature should stay down, they'd both decided that using Raleigh as a pillow would be less awkward if they were both clothed. No reason to make it weird if Chuck wouldn't be sweating through everything.

Reassured that the big jerk couldn't get into too much trouble with a bowl of soup and a cup of chamomile tea, Raleigh actually allowed himself to unwind in the shower, the hot spray relaxing some of the latent tension in his shoulders, neck, and back from the long and stressful morning. Yeah, he'd managed to sleep, but he'd still been worried. He felt like his shoulders had been up to his ears for a week and a half.

But he could relax now. The new instant read had said 99.5 when Chuck came out of the shower, and part of that could have been the hot water. Yeah, the poor guy was weak and shaky and he'd needed support both into and out of the shower, but still. Better.

And his breathing wasn't so bubbly. Still wheezy, but Raleigh figured that would linger a while, even after the worst of the flu was gone. Yancy had always kept a cough for weeks after any kind of respiratory illness.

Chuck was fine. He was on the mend.

Raleigh's shoulders inched back down, and he grinned ruefully. He hadn't been such a mother hen in years. It felt weird.

But he couldn't help cutting his shower a little shorter than he might have in his own bunk. Sure, Chuck should be perfectly fine, tucked into bed with a mug of soup. But Chuck could be a stubborn shit, and the kid was likely feeling just well enough to try to do something for himself while still being too weak to do any such thing.

So he lingered only long enough to scrub the rough towel through his hair -- which now smelled of sandalwood because Chuck apparently didn't settle for the standard issue shampoo from general supply -- and throw on Chuck's pajamas before heading back into the other room. Thankfully, the kid was still happily eating soup and safely under about half of his blankets.

"Seriously, Ray. This shit is amazing. How the fuck did you learn to cook?"

Raleigh took one look at how red the kid's nose was and the pile of tissues on the desk behind him and could not stifle a snicker. "Looks like it's working, anyway."

"Not gonna lie, mate; that part is fucking annoying."

Chuckling, he put a mug of water on the hotplate and fished a teabag out of the somewhat depleted box. "It oughtta help with the headache, anyway. Relieve some of that pressure."

"Yeah, yeah." Sniffle, slurp. "But seriously, how'd you learn to cook? I got the impression there wasn't much of anything but rations on Wall construction sites."

His shoulders went back up, and he felt--

This was why he and Chuck hadn't really been able to get along, even with the whole "saving the world" thing in common. This was why they didn't spend much time together as a matter of course.

Raleigh refused to apologize for working on the Wall, and Chuck would never forgive him for leaving the PPDC to do it.

He should have known it was only a matter of time before the subject arose again. He supposed it was a good sign that Chuck, the asshole, was feeling better.

"Ray?" The kid cocked his head around, likely alerted by the sudden silence. "Oi, what'd I say?"

The water boiled, and he steadied his hands as he went about making his cup of tea. "It's a good thing I learned to cook before joining the PPDC, then, huh?"

"Oi, fuck, I've done it, haven't I?"

But he'd held his water long enough as far as Chuck's hatred of the Wall was concerned. He placed his hands very deliberately on the countertop, not turning to face his constant accuser. He'd thought maybe they'd finally gotten past it, but... no.

"Look, I know the Wall was stupid. I knew when I was risking my ass every single day to build it that it was fucking _pointless._ That even Trespasser could have gone right through it, given enough room to run."

"Ray, I--"

"But what the fuck else was I supposed to do? I couldn't get back into a conn pod, Chuck. Did you know they already had potentials lined up? My fucking drivesuit burns were still scabs, and they thought they could just hook me up to someone else while I could still hear Yancy screaming every time I closed my eyes."

"Shit, Raleigh, please don't--"

"It would have been a fucking disaster. Hell, _five years later,_ Mako and I damn near blew up Loccent because of the shit in my head. How much worse would it have been less than a month out from the actual event?"

"Goddammit, just shut the fuck up for a sec--"

"So yeah, I worked on the Wall. Fucking sue me. It was the only thing left. I knew it was useless, but I told myself that if it even _stalled_ one long enough for people to get to a shelter, it was better than nothing. Better than rolling over and dying. Okay? Is that a good enough fucking reason for you?"

_"I FUCKING KNOW, OKAY??"_

Startled less by the shout than by the racking coughs that followed it, Raleigh spun away from the counter and snatched a Pedialyte from out of the mini fridge. Unfortunately, when he cracked it open and offered it, Chuck shoved it aside, still coughing as he twisted to put his mug on the desk and out of danger.

"Chuck, c'mon--"

The big jerk snatched the bottle out of his hand and slammed it down on the desk behind him, as well, sloshing Pedialyte everywhere. Still coughing, he reached over and grabbed a handful of Raleigh's t-shirt -- well, Chuck's t-shirt, but Raleigh was wearing it -- and jerked until Raleigh sat down on the edge of the bed, facing him.

Face red and eyes glaring, the kid struggled to get ahold of himself. "Jesus, Raleigh." Cough, gasp. "Shut the fuck... up for... one...." Cough, sniffle. "...fucking minute... and let me... fucking say something."

Unfortunately, anything the kid had to say would have to wait until he got his breath back. He slumped back against the pillows, his fingers still twisted in t-shirt material, and gasped, uttering a few more barking coughs.

"Please drink something?" Raleigh sighed, strangely tired after his outburst. "If nothing else, it'll cool your throat down. It has to hurt after all that."

Nodding tiredly, Chuck didn't protest when Raleigh offered the bottle again. His throat bobbed on a few swallows, and he grimaced.

"Tastes even worse after your soup reminded me what food's supposed to taste like."

A reluctant grin quirked his mouth. "Flattery will get you nowhere. You're still an asshole."

"Please don't leave."

He blinked. That came out of nowhere.

The kid sighed, then coughed a bit. "Look, you're right, yeah? I'm an asshole. I fucking hate that you fucked off when we most needed experienced pilots. I fucking _hate_ that you worked on the goddamn Wall whilst the world went straight to hell and jaegers fell left, right, and center."

So much for a cease fire.

"But Jesus, mate... I think that particular hatchet got buried when you literally cleaned up my shit and didn't fuss at me for it or leave because of it. When you've stayed here and fucking nursemaided me after I've been such a shit to you. Not to mention when you saved the whole goddamn world."

Speechless, he was reduced to mere blinking again.

"Raleigh... I swear I wasn't trying to start shit." Chuck swallowed hard and forced himself to look up from the bottle in his lap. "I... fuck, mate, I thought I was dying this morning, and it feels like the only reason I didn't is because you said you wouldn't let it happen. So... _please_ don't leave. I know I fucked up, but I swear I didn't mean to."

Chuck was... scared. Scared to be alone now that his body had let him down and left him basically bed-ridden. Was that why he'd latched onto Raleigh instead of Herc or Mako, both of whom he was so much more familiar with? Because Raleigh had found him literally passed out on the floor and had somehow made him feel safe where everyone else just annoyed him and reminded him that he was weak? Not that they meant to, of course, but...?

Jesus, all he'd done was give him something to drink and get him back into bed. And read to him. And clean him up.

Okay, so they'd probably never agree about the Wall. But if Chuck considered it water under the bridge at this point... maybe Raleigh should, too. Or at least put off the argument until another time.

Sighing, he gave in and shook his head. "I'm not gonna leave, okay?"

Dark-socketed eyes met his. Chuck looked more like the kid Raleigh called him than ever, young and scared and well aware that he was a liability. And so unused to being helpless.

"I promise I'll stay until you're back on your feet." Grinning a little, though he felt anything but happy, he crossed his heart. "Ranger's honor."

Instead of rolling his eyes at the cheesy gesture, Chuck looked infinitely relieved. "Okay." He swallowed and dropped his gaze to the bottle in his lap. "Thanks, mate."

Awkward now that his attempt to lighten the mood had failed, Raleigh stood up and went back for his cup of tea. He didn't know if Chuck still wanted him to sit behind him or not, so he decided to let his mouth run a little and tidy up before sitting back down anywhere.

"I, uh, learned to cook from my mom. She was French." The counter didn't need a wiping, but he gave it one anyway. "Maybe it's a stereotype, but whatever. She loved it, and she was good at it. She used to make that soup for us when we got sick." A less false grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Sometimes, we'd fake sick just to get her to make it. She would have if we'd just asked, but... it was like a little joke we were all in on."

"Not gonna lie, Ray; I _will_ be faking sick from now on if it gets you to cook for me."

He laughed a little, most of his lingering irritation and unease fading. Now was definitely not the time for any of it. "It doesn't work if you tell me ahead of time."

Chuck snorted, and Raleigh deemed the air clear enough to quit puttering around. He brought his tea with him over to the bed.

"Still want a few chapters?"

"Fuck yeah."

To his relief, before he had to decide whether to sit in the rolly chair or gesture for the kid to move, Chuck scooted forward and lifted the covers away to make room behind him. He put his mug on the desk, then eased in between the pillows and Chuck's broad back. They shifted around a bit, getting comfortable and arranging all the blankets, then Raleigh reached back for his tablet.

"Okay, where were we?"

He skimmed over the page, then grinned, remembering why he'd stopped where he had. This would be _epic._

"Here we go. And before her lovely eyes, Humperdinck changed from a man of fear and action to one of frenzied wisdom, because he had to get it all straight _now_ before any other country dared interfere with the future of Florin, so the wedding, when it actually took place, was a tiny thing and brief, sandwiched in between a ministers' meeting and a treasury crisis, and Buttercup spent her first afternoon as queen wandering around the castle not knowing what in the world to do with herself. It wasn't until King Humperdinck--"

"Whoa, whoa."

_Don't smile. Don't react. Don't ruin it for him._

"What?"

"Hold the fuck up. She did not just marry that sadistic fuck."

Since he held the tablet in front of both of them, he pointed at the carefully positioned block of text. "Says it right there. Sandwiched between a ministers' meeting and a treasury crisis."

"What the fuck? She doesn't marry Westley?"

_Do not smile!_

"Do you want me to quit reading?"

Grunting, the kid turned around enough to give him the stink eye. "No, but you better fucking explain yourself."

He blinked, trying to look innocent. "Me? I didn't write the damn thing. I'm just reading it."

"Oi, why the fuck did you start this stupid book, anyway? It was bad enough that she snubbed him with that 'I can live without love' bullshit after he saved her ass like twenty times in the Fire Swamp, but to marry another man? The man that's gonna have him tortured?"

He shrugged, wishing Chuck would look away so he could smirk.

"What a bitch!"

"Okay, this is obviously just riling you up, and you really need to rest. How about I read something else, instead?"

Grumbling, the kid slumped back against him and crossed his arms over his chest. "No. I gotta hear the end of it now. That wanker better get what's coming to him, is all I'm saying."

"You're sure?"

"Keep reading, dammit."

Feeling safe enough to grin with Chuck's head tucked under his chin, Raleigh read on. "It wasn't until King Humperdinck walked out on the balcony with her to greet the gigantic throng that had spent the day in patient waiting that she realized it _had_ happened, she _was_ the queen, her life, for whatever it was worth, belonged now to the people."

"They oughtta rip her apart, the ungrateful ratbag."

"Chuck."

"Sorry."

"They stood together on the castle balcony, accepting the cheers, the cries, the endless thunderous 'hip hips', until Buttercup said, 'Please, may I walk once more among them?' and the King said with a nod that she might and down she went again, as on the day of the wedding announcement, radiant and alone, and again the people swept apart to let her pass, weeping and cheering and bowing and--"

He paused, trying to keep the grin out of his voice. Time for more impersonations.

"--and then one person booed."

"Damn straight someone fucking booed."

"Humperdinck sent soldiers into the crowd, and like clockwork, Buttercup was safe, the booer apprehended and led away. 'Hold a moment,' Buttercup said, still shaken by the unexpectedness of what had happened. The soldier who held the booer stopped. 'Bring her to me,' Buttercup said, and in a moment the booer was right there, eye to eye. It was an ancient woman, withered and bent, and Buttercup thought of all the faces that had gone by in her life, but this one she could not remember. 'Why on this day? Why do you insult the Queen?'"

He cleared his throat and tried to sound like an old crone. An old _British_ crone. Jesus.

"'Because you are not worthy of cheers,' the old woman said, and suddenly she was yelling. 'You had love in your hands and you gave it up for gold!' She turned to the crowd. 'There was love alongside her in the Fire Swamp and she dropped it from her fingers like garbage, and that's what she is, the Queen of Garbage!'"

"Fuck yeah!"

"'Ask her how she got through the Fire Swamp! Ask her if she did it alone! She threw love away to be the Queen of Grime, the Queen of Muck! I am old and life means nothing to me, so I am the only person in all this crowd to dare tell the truth, and truth says bow to the Queen of Feculence if you want to, but not I. Cheer the Queen of Slime and Ordure if you want to, but not I. Rave over the beauty of the Queen of Cesspools, but not I. Not I!'"

His throat was starting to ache, so he reached back for a sip of tea before continuing. And also just to draw out the moment.

Maybe Chuck wasn't the only kid in the room.

"'Take her away,' Buttercup ordered. But the soldiers could not stop her, and the old woman kept coming on, her voice getting louder and _louder_ and _LOUDER_ and--"

Dramatic pause. Chuck tensed against him, waiting impatiently even though the text was right there for him to see if he wanted.

"Buttercup woke up screaming."

The big body slumped, and Chuck elbowed him in the ribs. "You are such a wanker."

Snickering, Raleigh read on. "She was in her bed. Alone. Safe. The wedding was still sixty days away. But her nightmares had begun."

"I fucking told you she'd never marry that sadistic fuck."

"I know, Chuck. I know."

Grinning, he read on.


	9. Chapter 9

"Ray?"

Sucking in a deep breath, Raleigh stretched and groaned before realizing he was still trapped under Chuck's bulk. "Hnwut?"

"Sorry, mate, but I gotta piss like a racehorse."

Yawning hugely, he dug the heel of one hand into one eye and almost brained himself with his tablet as he went to do the same with the other. Jesus, he hadn't slept that hard in years. Maybe since the first kaiju attack, if he really thought about it.

"Fuck. Sorry. Need some help?"

Chuck sighed, still heavy against him, and coughed. "Yeah. Sorry, mate. Fucking hated to wake you up."

He grunted, cocking his head to look down at the ginger hair tickling his chin. "How long have you been awake?"

"No idea. My sense of time is fucked. I don't even know what day it is."

For some reason -- he blamed being absolutely stupid with sleep -- that tickled him, and he snorted, then chuckled, then laughed outright.

"Oi, seriously, Ray. I will piss on your leg if you don't help me up out of this bed."

Laughing again and feeling light-headed, he sat up until Chuck sat up on his own, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Jesus, mate. You always giggly as fuck when you wake up?"

"Don't usually sleep."

Chuck blinked. "Oh." Another blink. "That might explain it."

"Sorry. I'll get my shit together on the way to the bathroom."

"Yeah, yeah. Ratbag."

Raleigh stood first, indulging in another huge stretch before slumping and scratching at his belly through the t-shirt. When he finished, he realized Chuck was staring at him, unimpressed, from the edge of the bed and grinned sheepishly. He felt almost drunk.

But Chuck had been patient long enough, so Raleigh bent down so the kid could put an arm over his shoulders and slid his own arm around the kid's waist.

"Ready?"

Chuck really did try to help, but even he seemed surprised by how weak he was, and Raleigh did most of the hauling. He didn't mind, though. He almost felt like he could pick the kid up bridal-style and carry him. Was this how normal, non-insomniac people felt all the time?

He wasn't sure if he should get used to it or not.

After making sure the kid had his balance -- and was within easy grabbing distance of the sink in case his knees gave out -- Raleigh went back into the main room and spooned some soup into a mug for the hotplate. A glance at the readout on the desk array showed that it was afternoon. Apparently, the morning's drama followed by the almost inevitable emotional blow-up when two former rivals were forced into company had knocked both of them out for a good portion of the day.

No wonder he felt sleep-drunk. He was surprised Chuck didn't feel the same way.

"Ray? I'm done."

The poor guy was exhausted just from standing to take a piss, so Raleigh didn't give him any grief as he shouldered the weight.

"Do you feel up to eating? I'm warming up some soup, but if you don't want it, I'll eat it myse--"

"I will fucking fight you for it."

A laugh jumped out of him as he settled the kid on the edge of the bed. "Seriously?"

"It's the only thing I can taste, mate." He tilted his head one way, then the other. "Well, the only thing that tastes like it's supposed to, anyway."

"Ah." Grinning a little, he scruffed the kid's hair and dodged the expected irritated smack as he turned to check the soup. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment, whether you meant it that way or not. Also, you're drinking more Pedialyte."

"Oi, fuck. I haven't had the shits all day. I'm not gonna dehydrate."

He rolled his eyes. "You've only been to the bathroom twice."

"No diarrhea either time."

"Chuck."

"Fine." A grunt, which turned into a cough. "Asshole."

"I know. I'm a tyrant." He handed off a bottle, lid already off. "If you drink the whole thing, I'll make you a cup of tea."

"I am never drinking this shite again once I'm over this."

Shaking his head, he touch-tested the soup and decided it was warm enough. "Get comfortable first."

Muttering, the big jerk scooted back across the width of the bed, settling back against the wall with his legs stretched out. "I am so fucking sick of this bed. My lower back is killing me."

"Did it hurt when you were on your side?"

Frowning, the kid considered. "No, actually. Maybe that's why I was so comfortable." Uh-oh. There were the "pity me, I'm sick" eyes. "Can I do that again later?"

His lips twitched. "As you wish."

The "pity me" eyes narrowed. "You really are a shit. You know that, right?"

The smirk broke free and spread all over his face. "And yet, I made you soup."

"I'm starting to regret the fact."

Still smirking, he handed off the mug, then pulled the blankets up over the sprawled legs. No sense risking a chill just as the kid was starting to recover. When he was satisfied his over-large and cranky chick was appropriately nested, he went back to the hotplate to make the promised tea. The box was almost empty. If he remembered, he'd see if Mako or Herc would bring another the next time they dropped by. He hated to harass the kitchen staff for anything else. They'd already gone well beyond accommodating.

When the tea was ready, he settled back against the wall near the headboard, shoulder to shoulder with Chuck, then kicked aside the pillows and offered the mug. Chuck gladly traded him for the mostly-empty bottle of Pedialyte.

"So, do you cook anything besides fucking awesome soup that I can taste?"

Trying to look innocent, he shrugged. "I make a mean French toast."

"Fucking. Wanker."

"What? It's my specialty."

"Fuck you, Ray." Apparently, chamomile really was soothing because the brat didn't actually look annoyed. "If you're gonna be a shit, you might as well keep reading that bullshit story that I'm starting to hate you for hooking me on."

"As you wish."

"Oi! Seriously!"

Snickering, he reached over for the tablet and tapped it back on. Ah, yes. The Pit of Despair. Well, the book called it the Zoo of Death, but Raleigh had stuck with the movie's terminology, there.

"It was a very complex job the Count was doing, but the six fingers on his right hand never for a moment seemed in doubt as to just what to do."

"I cannot wait until Inigo finds this sick fuck."

Since they were side by side, Raleigh hid his grin and kept reading. "'I'm very interested in pain,' the Count said, 'as I'm sure you've gathered these past months. In an intellectual way, actually. I've written, of course, for the more learned journals on the subject. Articles mostly. At present I'm engaged in writing a book. My book. _The_ book, I hope. The definitive work on pain, at least as we know it now.' Westley found the whole thing fascinating. He made a little groan."

Really hitting his stride now, he started skipping around the speechifying.

"'I will not, underline _not_ , use the Machine on you this evening. I could. It's ready and tested. But instead, I will simply erect it and leave it beside you, for you to stare at the next twenty-four hours, wondering just what it is and how it works and can it really be as dreadful as all that.' The machine looked so silly Westley was tempted to giggle. Instead, he groaned again." He cleared his throat, which was already drying out. "Hang on. I need some tea myself."

"Oi, just have some of mine."

Unimpressed, he eyed the kid. "Yeah, and come down with the plague, too? What, you'll haul me around and feed me soup and read me to sleep?"

To his surprise, Chuck eyed him seriously. "Maybe not whilst I'm still sick, but if I was better, yeah."

He blinked, more astonished than he probably should be. "Really?"

Uncomfortable now, the kid dropped his gaze and shifted under the blankets and coughed a bit. "Oi, don't get all gushy about it. Jesus."

And that was a much more Chuck response, so Raleigh responded in kind, rolling most of his surprise and crawling out of bed. "Jerk. Also, no. I'll do the vaccination I _didn't_ skip a favor and drink from my own cup, thanks."

"Really? You're bringing that up now?"

Another mug on the hotplate. Another teabag from the box. "Show of hands: who here got vaccinated when the alert went out?"

He raised his hand. Chuck scowled.

"And who here did not get the flu?"

His hand stayed up. Chuck grunted and crossed his arms, his soup mug precariously perched in his lap and his tea mug propped against his thigh.

"And that, children, is why we take advantage of the free healthcare provided by our membership in the PPDC."

"Jesus. When did you turn into an infomercial?"

"Want some more soup while I'm up?"

"Duh."

Smirking, he scruffed the brat's hair while plucking the mug from his lap. "You'll flatter me with enthusiasm like that."

The kid snorted, then looked hilariously surprised by the snot released. Snickering, Raleigh handed him the tissue box and headed back to the mini fridge and the hotplate that had become a significant part of his existence.

"The soup still works, I see."

"I fucking hate being sick."

"I know, Cuddles. I know."

"Jesus, don't call me that."

His water boiled, so he switched it for the refilled soup mug and added some honey. "You're the one who made with the puppy eyes to get me to cuddle you again."

"To sleep on my side! That's not the same thing!"

Smirking, he leaned on the counter and crossed his arms. "To sleep on your side _on my chest._ Cuddles."

"Oi, stop being a ratbag." Cough, cough. "I'm sick over here."

He waggled his eyebrows. "But not bored."

The kid opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again and scowled. "Cunning fuck. I see it now. You hide behind that innocent baby face, but you, Ray, are a fucking shark."

Making good with the innocent look, he sipped his tea. "I prefer the term 'master strategist'."

"Fucking. Shark."

Amused, he tested the soup and decided it was warm enough. Some of the bigger potato chunks might not be warmed all the way through, but he doubted Chuck would mind. The kid wolfed the stuff down like he'd never eaten before.

It was oddly satisfying to watch, actually.

So he handed the mug over, settled back against the wall, and made sure the kid was comfortably chowing down before turning the tablet back on.

They were getting to the good stuff now.


	10. Chapter 10

"'The wedding is tomorrow at sunset. My bride and I will ride my whites to Florin Channel surrounded by all your enforcers. There we will board a ship and begin our long-awaited honeymoon surrounded by every ship in the Florin Armada--' 'Every ship but four,' Buttercup corrected."

"Oh, he fucked up now."

Raleigh grinned and read on. Chuck had been in and out all evening, but mostly in. The increase in audience participation was both expected and highly entertaining, even when the kid scooted down to lay his head on Raleigh's thigh and stretch out on his side. The pose had the convenient side effect of making his hair easy for Raleigh to stroke, which Chuck occasionally demanded by butting his head back against Raleigh's stomach and complaining of a sinus headache.

"He blinked at her a moment in silence. Then he said, blowing her a kiss, but discreetly, so Yellin couldn't see, 'Yes, yes, how forgetful I am, every ship but four.' He turned back to Yellin. But in his blink, in that following silence, Buttercup had seen it all--"

There was a knock at the door, and it opened before either of them could even think to answer. Or move, for that matter.

"Oi, how are my boys doing toni--" Herc pulled up short, surprise evident all over his face. "Uh... boys?"

Raleigh had mostly acclimated to how clingy Chuck had become during the worst of his fever, but it didn't take him long to see what Herc likely saw -- his prickly jerk of a son, who needed no one and nothing, snuggled down on his hated rival's lap with said rival's fingers gently combing through his hair.

Thank God Chuck was fully dressed, even under the blankets.

_Fucking. Awkward._

Oddly enough, Chuck seemed unfazed. "Oi, shut the door, yeah? I happen to know you weren't born in a barn."

Herc blinked. "Right." Then, he seemed to shake some of his surprise and shut the door behind him. "Uh... sounds like you're feeling better, yeah?"

Uncomfortable, Raleigh debated whether he should turn off the tablet and maybe get up to do something useful or just stay where he was and be uncomfortable. Unfortunately, Chuck seemed disinclined to move, so... uncomfortable, it was.

"Still fucking tired, and my head is killing me. And I can't quit fucking coughing." Sighing, the big jerk rolled to his back and leaned his cheek against Raleigh's stomach. "Fever's down, though."

Moving without really thinking about the motion, he put the back of his hand to Chuck's forehead. Warm, but not hot.

Oops. Herc was looking at him, eyes narrow and considering.

He jerked his hand away, then realized he had nowhere to put it. Fucking _awkward._

"That's good to hear. The doc said you had a rough morning." The marshal strolled over and sat down in the rolly chair, unfortunately close. "Meant to come by again earlier, but those UN bastards were trying to claim the jaegers are proprietary property and are trademarked or some bullshit like that. Mako fed 'em their lunch, though. They don't own a goddamn thing, which is why they're scrambling to grab anything they think they can."

"'S alright, Dad." The kid shot his old man a grin. "Ray's taking care of me. He's being a shit about it, but he gets the job done."

He couldn't help it. Uncomfortable or not, he rolled his eyes. "Seriously. This is the last time I make you soup."

Herc's eyebrows shot up. "You made him soup?"

"Oi, it's fucking amazing. Seriously. I can actually taste it."

Raleigh blushed. Herc eyed him with that weird near-awe.

"You got him to _eat?_ Again?"

"Oi, Ray, warm him up a cup, yeah? Seriously, Dad. One bite, and you won't be able to _stop_ eating it."

_Fucking awkward!_

"Chuck, really, he doesn't have to--"

"Honestly, I could do with a bite." The marshal shrugged. "I've not eaten since breakfast."

When did everything get so weird? But Chuck sat up a bit and shoved at him, so he obligingly crawled out of the bed, glad when Herc scooted back to make room for him to pass. Father and son nattered a bit while Raleigh occupied himself over by the counter.

"Not gonna lie, kid; I was worried about you this morning."

Chuck snorted, then cursed. Raleigh grinned and wordlessly moved to hand him the tissues yet again.

"Fuck. I bloody hate my fucking nose." A noisy blow. "Ow. Swear to God it's gonna fall off next time I have to blow it."

Herc tsked. "Don't you have some lotion or something?"

"No, I don't fucking have any lotion. Jesus."

"Oi, calm down. I'll see if the infirmary has anything that'll do the trick, yeah?"

"Whatever. Fuck." Another blow, followed by a cough and a groan. "Ugh."

Raleigh filled the last clean mug -- if they had any more visitors, he'd have to request some more -- with soup and put it on the hotplate, idly thanking it for working so reliably.

"But you're okay now?"

Sighing, the kid slumped back against the wall. "Yeah. Just fucking tired all the time. And my back was killing me from all the lying about, but Ray let me use him as a body pillow, so it's not as bad as it was."

Blushing, Raleigh kept his attention firmly fixed on the mug of soup. He wasn't sure if he wanted it hot right now or to take forever to heat through.

"I hope you thanked him for it."

Surprised, he shot Herc a look. The narrow-eyed expression was gone, and in its place was simple gratitude. The marshal really did love his son, no matter how hard it was for either of them to show it.

"Er...." Coughing, the kid squirmed again. "I dunno that I used those exact words."

Herc sighed. "Chuck."

"Oi, I'm sick. Cut me some slack."

Snickering, Raleigh tested the soup and found it perfectly hot. He dropped in a spoon and handed it over with a grin.

Herc accepted with a smirk. "Thank you, Raleigh." His attention shifted to his son. "See how easy that was?"

"Can we not gang up on the sick bloke?"

Forcing a solicitous expression, he reached over and scuffed the kid's hair. "More soup, Chuck?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

His mouth twitched. "As you wish."

"Goddammit, Ray!"

"Oi, manners!"

Chuckling, Raleigh picked up Chuck's mug and went back to the counter. He admitted freely that he was as much a child as Chuck was.

"Jesus, the kid's been waiting on you hand and foot and letting you snot all over him--"

"Oi! I did not!"

"--and you talk to him like that?"

Leaning against the counter, he watched with embarrassed amusement as they bickered.

"Oi, I forgave him for fucking off to the Wall, didn't I?"

Huh. He'd thought they'd just agreed not to talk about it anymore. Would wonders never cease?

"Charles Telephus Hansen."

Uh-oh. That was not a good tone.

"You did _not_ make him apologize for making a goddamn living in hard times."

That wasn't bickering. That was actual arguing, and Raleigh wasn't sure Chuck had the energy for it. Thinking fast, he forced a laugh he hoped sounded more natural than it felt.

"Even if he'd tried, I wouldn't have."

Silence.

"He thinks _he's_ stubborn, but he's starting to realize what Yancy knew by the time I was ten years old."

Both Hansens lost a significant portion of their thunder at the mention of his dead brother. Mission accomplished. Even with the usual slice of old pain through him at the mention of Yancy's name.

"When it comes down to it, I've never done a single thing I didn't _want_ to do."

Herc shot him a look -- no fool, that one; the marshal knew he'd just been deflected -- but Chuck snorted, tissue already in hand, just in case. For once, he didn't need it.

"Oi, so you _wanted_ to come back to the PPDC, knowing you'd have to get in a conn pod with a stranger and open yourself back up to the Drift?"

He shrugged and tested the soup. Oops. A little too hot, this time. Well, he'd been distracted. "Yeah, actually."

"Bullshit."

"Pentecost asked the only question that mattered, really: where did I want to die?" He strolled casually back over to the bed stirring the soup and blowing on it to cool it down. "And he was right. I _didn't_ want to die on the Wall."

Chuck glared up at him. "And you _wanted_ to suffer through Drift trials with a bunch of nobodies who couldn't match you?"

He smirked, almost really feeling it. "I _wanted_ a trial with Mako. I had to get Pentecost annoyed enough to actually let her fight, didn't I?"

"Oi, fuck. You're telling me you _wanted_ to chase the RABIT just enough to knock Mori off her focus so _she_ chased a RABIT?"

His smirk stiffened, but he didn't let it go. "I got to see my brother again, didn't I?"

"Chuck." Herc's voice was soft with just the slightest hint of warning.

But Raleigh didn't think Chuck needed the hint. The kid's expression had already lost its sulk.

"Yeah, sorry, mate. You're a stubborn ratbag. Now sit your stubborn ass down and read to me."

He couldn't help it. He grinned for real. "As you wish."

"Fucking stop that! Jesus!"

"Wait, wait." Because the soup was still hot enough to scald. And he was curious. "Is... is your middle name really Telephus?"

"Goddammit."

Herc coughed a surprised laugh just before shoveling in the first bite, a chunk of potato falling off his spoon with a plop. "Caught that, did you?"

"Oh, my God, _it is!"_

"Not on any official record, dammit." Chuck crossed his arms and huffed a grunt that turned into a cough. "Mum made bloody well sure of that."

Herc just smirked. "What's this 'as you wish' thing, then?"

Raleigh handed over the mug now that it shouldn't burn the kid, then crawled back into his spot between Chuck and the head of the bed. "Have you heard of--"

"Don't fucking do it."

"-- _The Princess Bride?"_

"Goddammit, Ray."

The marshal's eyes widened. "Wait, the Disney movie?"

He blinked. "Was that a Disney movie?"

Herc shrugged. "Honestly, I have no idea. But you're talking the one where the grandfather's reading the book to the sick kid _oh my God."_

Raleigh couldn't have ignored Herc's snickering if he tried. Luckily, he didn't try.

"Oi, what are you two assholes laughing about?"

Shaking his head, Herc shot Raleigh a blatantly fond grin. "You're a good kid, Raleigh." He shook his head again. "And if you're watching, I wanna watch, too."

"Oi! Nobody invited you!"

Sheepish now, Raleigh rubbed the back of his neck, accidentally elbowing Chuck in the ear. "Actually, it's what I've been reading to him."

"Seriously? Not even a 'sorry for donking you in the ear'?"

"Oh, my God, how did I not know you were reading my son a bedtime story? I thought you were talking about... fuck, I don't even know."

"Stop fucking ignor--"

The poor kid burst out coughing from all the growling, and Raleigh took pity on him enough to put an arm over his shoulders. Gasping a bit, the big jerk collapsed over to lean against him, letting his head fall to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry for donking you in the ear."

"Almost made me spill my soup, ya ratbag."

"Oh, my God." Herc took another bite and rolled it around a moment before groaning in bliss. "Jesus, Raleigh, don't make him spill his soup. It's _amazing."_

"See? What'd I tell you."

Another bite, and this groan was almost embarrassing. "Not gonna lie, kid; this is the best thing I've tasted in years."

"I fucking told you." Pleased with himself -- not that Raleigh could figure why, since it wasn't like Chuck made the damn soup -- the kid started in on his own mug. "Fuck, it's so good to actually _taste_ something."

With both Hansens making ridiculous bliss noises, Raleigh wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Chuck was still leaning heavily into his side, so he couldn't exactly take his arm back.

So, shrugging, he tapped the tablet back on and started reading again. He figured if anyone had a problem with it, they'd tell him. The Hansens might not express affection well, but they had no problem voicing displeasure.

"With a bow, Yellin was gone. 'The four ships were never sent,' Buttercup said, when they were alone. 'Don't bother lying to me anymore.'" Finding the swing again, he changed his voice to Humperdinck's. "'Whatever was done was done for your own good, sweet pudding.'"

"Jesus, you're even doing different voices."

"Oi, shut it."

"Sorry, sorry."

Unfazed, Raleigh read on. "'Somehow, I do not think so. It doesn't matter whether you sent the ships or not. Westley will come for me. There is a God; I know that. And there is love; I know that too; so Westley will save me.' 'You're a silly girl, now go to your room.' 'Yes, I am a silly girl, and yes again, I will go to my room, and you are a coward with a heart filled with nothing but fear.'"

"Finally starting to like this bitch."

"Chuck." Herc narrowed his eyes. "I don't like that word."

"Dad, she's engaged to the wanker that's been torturing her true love. Her true love that she straight up dumped after he fought his way through her would-be assassins _and_ the Fire Swamp."

"Your mum didn't like that word."

Raleigh held his breath, but Chuck only sighed.

"Yeah, fine. Still don't like her."

His eyebrows went up. "Done?"

Chuck lifted his head enough to nod. "Sorry, mate. Go on."

"The Prince had to laugh. 'The greatest hunter in the world and you say I am a coward?' 'I say you are a coward and you are; I think you only hunt to reassure yourself that you are _not_ what you are: the weakest thing to ever walk the Earth. He will come for me and then we will be gone, and you will be helpless for all your hunting, because Westley and I are joined by the bond of love and you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds, and you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords.'"

He glanced up to see Herc looking both fond and amused as he watched Chuck eating soup and listening attentively to a story. Raleigh couldn't help but feel warmed by that look, even if it wasn't directed at him. Few people alive had seen that expression on Hercules Hansen's face, after all.

"Humperdinck screamed toward her then, ripping at her autumn hair, yanking her from her feet and down the long curving corridor to her room, where he tore that door open and threw her inside and locked her there and started running for the secret entrance to the Pit of Despair."

He had to be careful, here. Chuck had been genuinely upset at the idea that Buttercup had married Humperdinck. He simply couldn't begin to predict how seriously the kid would take what happened to Westley next.

"Down he plunged, giant stride after giant stride, and when he threw the door of the cage open, even Count Rugen was startled at the purity of whatever emotion was reflected in the Prince's eyes. 'She loves you,' the Prince cried. 'She loves you still and you love her, so think of that -- think of this too: in all this world, you might have been happy, genuinely happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the storybooks say, but you could have had it, and so, I would think, no one will ever suffer a loss as great as you.'"

He snuck a glance at Herc, who caught his eye and nodded.

"And with that, he grabbed the dial and pushed it all the way forward and the Count cried, 'Not to twenty!' but by then it was too late. The death scream had started."

He paused, but Chuck lay still at his side. Perhaps too still.

"In her chamber, Buttercup heard it, and it frightened her, but she had not the least idea what it was. At the main door of the castle, Yellin and his Brutes heard it, and it frightened them, but they couldn't imagine what it was, either. The death scream rose higher in the night." He swallowed hard. "All the streets leading into the Great Square were filled with citizens, all trying to crowd into the square, and they heard it, but once they admitted they were petrified, they gave up trying to guess what it may have been. Inigo knew immediately."

He almost didn't do the terrible Spanish accent, but he'd come this far with it. Chuck would be disappointed if he dropped it now, even at such an upsetting part.

"'I don't like that sound,' Fezzik said, his skin, for the moment, cold. Inigo grabbed the giant and the words began pouring out. 'Fezzik -- that is the sound of Ultimate Suffering -- I know that sound -- that was the sound in my heart when Count Rugen slaughtered my father and I saw him fall -- the man in black makes it now--' 'You think that's him?' 'Who else has cause for Ultimate Suffering this celebration night?' And with that, he started to follow the sound."

His throat was dry. He wasn't sure if it was from reading aloud or from concern. Either way, he reached for his long-cold tea from earlier. It was bitter from having the bag left in for so long, but it soothed him a bit.

"The death scream was starting to fade now, fading in the clouds. 'Fezzik!' said Inigo. 'All your power now.' Down the alley Fezzik ran, people screaming and diving to get out of his way, and in his footsteps Inigo kept pace, and at the end of the alley was a street and the scream was fainter now but Fezzik turned left and into the middle of the street he went and he owned it, no one was in his way, nothing dared block his way, and the scream was getting so hard to hear, so with all his might Fezzik roared, _'QUIET!'_ and the street was suddenly hushed. Fezzik pounded along, Inigo right behind, and the scream was still faintly there, and into the Great Square itself and the castle beyond before the scream was gone."

He paused, debating whether or not to soften the blow. Chuck was like stone at his side.

"Westley lay dead by the Machine. The Prince kept the dial by the twenty mark long after--"

"Raleigh."

He stopped immediately, having expected the interruption but not the quietness or his proper name.

"Did you read me a book where the hero fucking dies?"

Herc opened his mouth, but Raleigh subtly shook his head, then lifted the hand on Chuck's shoulder to run it through his hair.

"Is it too much? Do you want me to stop?"

"Westley is seriously dead?"

Sighing, he nodded.

"This is the worst fucking book in the history of the world." But the kid sounded more tired than angry. "If Westley is dead, who kills Humperdinck? Does Buttercup man up and do it herself?"

A reluctant grin tugged his lips. "No, but I'm actually proud of you for thinking that way."

Herc cleared his throat. "He did sort of grow up around Mako."

The grin became less reluctant. "True enough."

"Seriously, mate." The big jerk prodded him in the ribs. "Who kills that wanker? And you'd better tell me Inigo gets to kill the six-fingered man."

"I'm not gonna ruin the story for you, Chuck."

"But it's a shite story if all the good guys die!"

He grinned again. "Westley is an infamous, murderous pirate. Inigo is basically an assassin for hire, despite his lifelong quest for vengeance. Fezzik is a hired thug."

"Stop making sense!"

Herc snickered and set aside his empty mug.

"Do you want me to keep reading?"

"Ugh. I hate you. Fucking read already."

He grinned and scrolled a bit. Something told him he'd better go the movie route and skip Inigo and Fezzik's terrible plunge through the wrong door and into the bowels of the Zoo of Death, jumping right to them finding Westley dead instead.

"Okay, okay. Westley lay dead by the Machine. The Prince kept the dial by the twenty mark long after it was necessary, until the Count said, 'Done.' The Prince left without another look at Westley. He took the secret stairs four at a time. 'She actually called me a coward,' he said, and then he was gone from sight."

And, with Chuck snuggled up at his side, sipping at the broth left over after all the vegetables were gone and occasionally blowing his runny nose, and with Herc looking on with fond attention, Raleigh read on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, Chuck's point of view of this chapter is [here,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6604312) the second fic in the series.


	11. Chapter 11

Another near-dawn wake-up, another haul into the bathroom for a piss and a shower, another two cups of tea, and another antiviral down the hatch. Raleigh eyed Chuck while he warmed up another mug of soup and opened the new box of herbal tea Herc had requested from the kitchens when they ran out during the scene at Miracle Max's hut. The kid looked much better but was still pale and hollow-eyed. And still so weak.

Even now, it was hard to reconcile that lack of strength with the Chuck he thought he knew. The arrogant, loud-mouthed ranger had seemed invincible, even unconscious in his partially melted escape pod with his drivesuit and skin smoking from the heat trapped inside. That Chuck Hansen really had been a goddamn cockroach, impervious to damage or weakness or gestures of friendship.

Then, the kid looked up from tying the drawstring on his pajama pants and grinned. Same smartass grin. Same smartass dimples. Chuck Hansen. Goddamn cockroach.

Raleigh shook his head and grinned, too. "How's your back?"

Because of course the kid had eventually passed out on Raleigh's chest, curled up on his side and swaddled in too many blankets because he complained he was cold while Raleigh sweated in silence.

"Better. Thanks, mate."

He nodded and stirred the soup a bit. "Mako said she'd stop by after breakfast. Anything you're particularly hungry for?"

The grin twisted up on one side. "Would you believe me if I said French toast?"

He snorted. "Jerk. I meant for her to pick up from the kitchen."

The smirk faded, and the kid shrugged. "I dunno. I mostly just want soup, but... more solid? Does that make sense?"

Nodding, he considered. "I could ask her to bring some mashed potatoes. Mom used to pour soup over mashed potatoes when we were well enough to start back toward real food."

She also used to stir in homemade egg noodles to add bulk, so he could probably do that, too, if he got the chance. Maybe Chuck would spare him a while during a nap. Especially if Herc brought Max by, as he'd promised just before leaving last night. Surely, the kid would let his dad keep him company for an hour or so, now that he was feeling better.

He sent Mako a quick text, asking if she'd mind picking up some mashed potatoes for Chuck and maybe a few slices of bacon for Raleigh -- he really hadn't eaten well while taking care of Chuck -- then tested the soup. Perfect.

"Here ya go. How's the head?"

The kid shrugged. "I dunno. Groggy. Kind of a dull throb all over."

"Ibuprofen?"

"I dunno. Sure."

Raleigh understood. He really did. Chuck was a man of action, and being practically bed-ridden had long since lost any charm it might have had. The kid was bored, despite all of Raleigh's attempts to keep him occupied, either with the story or with snarky banter. It had to be draining to be stuck in the same room all day, every day, when he was used to being ready to deploy almost anywhere in the world at the drop of a kaiju alarm.

"Hey, do you have a deck of cards?"

Sniffling -- that soup really was miraculous for how fast it cleared stopped-up sinuses -- the poor guy shrugged. "Maybe? Check the desk. Second drawer on the right. If I have 'em at all, they'd be there."

He rummaged around, then crowed triumphantly. It was a brand new deck of blue Bicycles, still in the plastic wrapper. "We're in business now. You ever play War?"

The kid raised one eyebrow. "More of a poker man, honestly. I think Dad and I used to play when I was a kid, maybe?"

Raleigh grinned and shooed at the big jerk until he scooted down the bed, careful of his soup. "Good thing the rules are simple."

"You're not trying to divert me from the end of the book because it's bloody awful and I'll hate you forever for how it finishes up, are you?"

Snickering, he sat down against the headboard and crossed his legs, then leaned forward to shuffle on the exposed mattress. The surface wasn't even and the new cards would result in a lot of slipping around, but it'd do in a pinch.

"Oh, you're hearing the rest of it. Don't worry about that." He shrugged. "Just thought you might be ready for some variety, now that you're not sleeping eighteen hours a day."

"...Okay, I can't argue with that. Deal."

Sometime later, after much cursing and cheering and victory and defeat on both sides -- and much coughing and nose-blowing on Chuck's -- they both startled at a knock on the door.

Chuck raised his eyebrows and twisted around to eye the door. "Come in?"

The door opened, and Mako peeked around it. "Everybody decent in here?"

Raleigh smirked. "The naked phase is over. You're safe."

"Oi! That was for practical purposes, dammit."

Smiling innocently, she came all the way into the room, though she left the door open behind her. Probably a good idea. Raleigh was pretty sure that if the 'dome didn't have such good air processors, Chuck's bunk would reek like the sweatiest locker room stuffed with old socks and jock straps in existence.

Even so, they could both probably do with a little fresh air.

"Someone's obviously feeling better." She brandished her armful of little plastic boxes. "The kitchen crew sent over a few things they hoped would help."

Chuck blinked. "The kitchen crew knows I'm sick?"

Sheepish, Raleigh rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, that's on me. I kinda had to tell them when I needed a roasted chicken and a stock pot." He grinned. "On the plus side, they really, really wanted to help you get better."

The poor kid blinked again. "Huh."

Mako shot him a wink and headed across the room to unload. "I had to promise to report back to them, since they're now almost as worried about Raleigh as you because he hasn't been back to check in."

"Oh." He wasn't sure how to feel about that. Honestly, he felt as surprised as Chuck had been to hear about their concern. "I... didn't think of that. I was gonna go borrow the kitchen again later, if Chuck was okay with it."

The kid shrugged, but Raleigh saw a hint of tension in the line of those shoulders. "You're not leg-shackled to the bed, mate. You can come and go as you please."

Mako, tactful as always, busied herself with shuffling tupperware around on the counter.

Raleigh rolled his eyes. "Chuck." Sometimes, he just wanted to shake his head for an hour. "I promised I wouldn't leave until you were better. I meant it. I just wanted to make you something a little more substantial, okay? An hour. Two hours, tops. And only if you're genuinely okay with it and someone's here to keep you company."

Clearing her throat, Mako actually looked a little sheepish. "I'm sorry, but I can't today. I have to meet with Dr. Gottlieb's group, and... well... they go on." She grinned impishly. "And on. _And on."_

He chuckled. "Did they come up with some way to predict when the kaiju will be back yet?"

Chuck grunted. "I like how no one but those UN wankers says 'if' about the next attack."

Mako shot the kid a surprisingly affectionate grin. "Most of us learn from experience."

Snorting -- and, thankfully, not regretting it instantly -- Chuck idly flicked the corners of his dwindling deck. "But seriously, do they have any idea on a time frame?"

"I think there are too many variables to consider." She shrugged. "Dr. Gottlieb thinks they can at least narrow them down to the most important ones. Either way, it will take time."

Raleigh shook his head. "And it's nothing we need to worry about today. Another tea?"

Chuck handed over his mug. "Anything but fucking Pedialyte."

"I wonder if Tendo could spare an hour or so." Frowning a bit, Mako shot Raleigh a curious look. "I know he's been meeting with the engineers for a workaround in case of another EMP-type attack, but...?"

"No, thanks." Chuck flicked his cards again. "No offense to Tendo, but I don't want a bloke with a goddamn rosary tied around his wrist sitting beside my sickbed. It's fucking unnerving."

Raleigh laughed at the image, nearly spilling a mugful of water across the counter. Even Mako snickered, though she immediately covered her mouth and tried to look only mildly amused.

"It's not funny! It's like he's just _waiting_ to give me last rites."

Swallowing down her snickers, Mako tried to look serious and failed. "He's not a minister, Chuck."

"Don't care. _No."_

Still chuckling, Raleigh went back to the soothing ritual of tea-making. "What about Herc? He was gonna bring Max by sometime, anyway."

"Oi, forgot about that. Feels like I haven't seen my dog all bloody year."

Mako rolled her eyes. "It's been less than a week."

"That's forever in Max years."

Another eyeroll. "That's not how dog years work. And no, the marshal has a conference with Boeing about maybe making the next generation jaeger flight capable."

Raleigh blinked. "Holy shit. Think of the possibilities."

Even Chuck looked impressed. "If I wasn't sick, I'd be sitting in on that one, for sure. Dammit."

Mako considered a minute, then frowned. "What about--"

"If you're about to suggest Geiszler, don't." Chuck's tone brooked no argument.

Raleigh eyebrows rose. "Don't like the rockstar?"

Scowling full-on now, Chuck shifted to lean against the wall and crossed his arms. "That wanker had the sack to ring me up after Taurax and fucking _lecture_ me for destroying too much of the body."

Raleigh closed his mouth and shot Mako an incredulous look. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Called me a clumsy oaf and told me to be more careful next time."

He blinked. "And he still has both arms? Attached to his body and everything?"

The kid grunted. "If he'd been in reach at the time, they'd have both been shoved so far up his ass he could've scratched his nose with all ten fingers."

Snorting, he turned back to the now-boiling water on the hotplate. "You've thought about that one a few times, haven't you?"

"Fucking. Wanker."

He shook his head and added honey, stirring thoughtfully. "Well, I guess it's not that crucial for me to hit the kitchens. You'll be all right with mashed potatoes for a while."

Sighing, Chuck let his head hang and fiddled with his soup mug. "Oi, mate, don't feel like you're stuck here, yeah? You can leave me on my own for an hour. I promise I'll stay in bed and not try anything exciting."

Mako frowned, looking from Chuck to Raleigh and back again. Raleigh eyed her suspiciously. He didn't know what that expression was, but he didn't think he cared for it.

"I don't like the idea of leaving you alone." He was a little disturbed by how much he meant the statement. And by Mako's expression. "I doubt you'll have a temperature spike or a dangerous coughing fit or anything, but you're still sick, Chuck." He forced a grin he didn't feel. "God only knows what you'll try to do if you get bored by yourself."

The kid stared at him for a long time, his face unreadable. It was... odd. Chuck didn't usually bother hiding his emotions, even if he didn't know what to do with them, and it made Raleigh almost as uncomfortable as the look on Mako's face as she watched the exchange.

Finally: "Dad said he'd bring Max by, yeah? Maybe you could go after that. Max'll keep me--"

The pause was just long enough that Mako couldn't miss it. Raleigh scrambled to think of something to fill it. There was no doubt in his mind that, if they were alone, Chuck would have said that Max would keep him _safe_ while Raleigh was gone.

But they weren't alone right now. Chuck had only barely admitted to being afraid to _him._ And not in so many words, even then. No way in this world he'd say so in front of Mako.

"--out of trouble." Recovering, the kid looked inordinately relieved. "We'll just sit right here on the bed and cuddle until you get back, yeah?"

And now, Raleigh couldn't refuse without making the kid feel weak and fragile. Dammit. He did _not_ like the idea of leaving Chuck alone.

But Mako was watching them, seeing God only knew what, and he had no intention of giving her anything else to eyeball. So, he made at least one corner of his mouth twitch upward.

"Deal."

A deal neither of them was very happy with.

Which made it odd that Mako so clearly was.

Grinning with a strange narrowness about her eyes, she pushed away from the counter. "Well, now that that's settled, I think I'll let you two get back to your game." She reached over and punched Raleigh lightly on the arm. "I brought you bacon and toast. You need to eat, too, you know."

Chuck grunted. "Oi, she's right. Now that I think of it, you've barely eaten a thing since you got here. What the fuck, Ray?"

Raleigh shot her an unimpressed look. "Nice. Real nice."

Her grin turned smug. "You're not the only mother hen in the PPDC, Raleigh Becket. Eat your breakfast. And the kitchen sent over some juice, too."

"Fucking ace!" Of course Chuck was thrilled. He was so done with the Pedialyte. "Oi, Ray...?"

"Yes, I'll bring you some when you finish your tea." He shook his head at Mako. "Look what you did."

Shrugging with faux innocence, she started toward the door. "My work here is finished." Detouring to the bed, she reached over and scruffed Chuck's hair, using the move to feel his forehead. That done, she nodded, satisfied. "You boys don't have too much fun."

"I haven't taught him Slapjack yet."

For a moment, she looked truly horrified. "Raleigh, no."

He smirked. "It'll be epic."

Shaking her head, she headed out the door, closing it behind her as she called back her parting shot. "You two are terrible children."

"What the fuck is Slapjack?"

Finally grinning for real, he took Chuck's cup of tea over to the bed. "Oh, sweet summer child, such wonders are in store."

"You've been reading that goddamn book too much."

"So you don't want me to finish?"

"I will feed you this entire deck if you don't." The kid scooted back to the middle of the bed, facing Raleigh. "Now... Slapjack?"

"It requires quick reflexes and pointless violence."

"I'm in."

Grinning, Raleigh divvied out the cards.


	12. Chapter 12

It was frustratingly difficult for Raleigh to actually leave after Herc dropped off Max. It didn't help that Chuck was just as reluctant to be left alone, beloved fur brother notwithstanding. His cough had picked up from all the trash talk during Slapjack, again not helping.

"I'll have my tablet with me the whole time." He fidgeted by the door, watching the poor kid grow more and more tense. "You need anything, you text me. I can be here in five minutes or less. _Please_ don't get up and walk around."

_I will lose my shit if I come back and you're passed out on the floor again._

He didn't say it, but he was pretty sure Chuck heard it anyway. The kid nodded, looking young and tired and solemn, stroking his dog's short fur with nervous, fidgety hands.

"Should I leave the door open?"

_So Max can come find me if something happens to you?_

"Oi, Raleigh, I'll be fine." But he'd used Raleigh's full name. That never boded well. "Go on with you, yeah?"

"Sure you don't need the bathroom before I go?"

"Just went, mate."

He knew that. He just... worried. If Mako was here... or Herc....

"Okay. An hour."

The kid nodded and forced himself to settle back against the piled pillows. Max squirmed half over his stomach, grunting with oblivious happiness at the return of these particular ear scritches.

He'd be fine. Max looked like a marshmallow, but bulldogs were a loyal breed, and Chuck had raised this one himself and absolutely spoiled it with affection and training. Max would watch out for him.

They'd be fine.

Not happy with either leaving or how reluctant he was to do so, Raleigh closed the door behind him and headed for the kitchens, several plastic containers of soup in his arms and his tablet shoved into a pocket of Chuck's pajama pants. He really ought to stop by his bunk for his own clothes, but he wanted to be gone as short a time as possible.

The kitchen staff greeted him with relieved smiles and questions about how Chuck was really doing, then went about their business when satisfied that the other hero pilot was on the mend. They didn't ignore him while he worked, dumping all the soup into a stock pot to reheat while he beat flour into the diluted eggs and kneaded the dough smooth and rolled it out on the floured counter, but they also knew he had an obligation to get back to his charge as quickly as possible, so they didn't want to delay him.

Using more flour than was probably necessary, he rolled the rough rectangle of dough like a jellyroll, then sliced it crosswise into disks. Feeling less urgent as memories of helping his mother distracted him -- though he kept the tablet he'd put on the counter fully in sight at all times -- he let the disks unroll into long strands, then broke them off every three finger-widths, just as his mother had done. Yancy had always preferred wider, shorter noodles -- more like dumplings than egg noodles, really -- but this was how Dominique LaPierre-Becket had always made hers, so longer, thinner noodles were what Raleigh always made.

When the reheated soup was boiling, he started dropping in noodles by the handful, stirring to separate them so they didn't end up a messy, half-cooked clump in the bottom of the pot. The excess flour thickened the broth as he added more and more noodles, and before long, he had a nice, thick, stew-like concoction bubbling away.

The noodles didn't take long to cook, and in no time, he was happily refilling the plastic tubs a cook had thoughtfully washed for him with far more soup than he'd brought in. He was so relieved to be headed back without any SOS texts, in fact, that he detoured to stop by his bunk and throw a few pairs of pajama pants and boxer briefs and a handful of t-shirts into a backpack to take along with him. And his toothbrush. He debated bringing his own shampoo, then decided he liked the sandalwood stuff. He'd have to see if Chuck could get him some the next time he bought.

Grinning, he knocked on the door, shifting the slightly too-hot boxes to free up one arm.

"Oi, what?"

He frowned and opened the door quickly because that... didn't sound like the usual Chuck. That sounded too tired to be angry, but still angry anyway.

He pushed through the door with a concerned, "Everything okay in here?", and at first glance, he was instantly worried as hell. The kid lay slumped lower in the pillows, an arm slung over his eyes, Max lying by his legs and looking sad.

But before Raleigh could say anything else, Chuck peered at him from under his arm, then sat up and grinned, brightening. It was like the sun coming out. Even Max seemed to smile, sitting up and letting his tongue hang out as he panted.

"Took you long enough, yeah?"

He couldn't have stopped a return grin if he tried. "Sorry. Figured I'd better grab my toothbrush while I was out and about."

"Oi, thank God for that." The grin turned to a smirk, but Raleigh wasn't fooled. The relief was still fully evident in the eager way the kid sat forward, the pillows forgotten behind him. "Didn't wanna say anything, but you, mate, have shitty morning breath."

He tried to look unimpressed, but he was too relieved to see that Chuck really was fine, that being left alone for... okay, almost two hours instead of the one he'd hoped for... hadn't done any lasting damage.

"Yes, because you smell as fresh as a daisy."

"Fuck off."

"Glad to see you, too, Cuddles."

"Oi, shut up and make me some tea. My throat's dry as fuck."

Smirking, he settled everything on the counter and pulled out a tub of the mashed potatoes Mako had brought by earlier. He scooped a generous spoonful into Chuck's mug, then spooned in the new soup, making sure to add plenty of noodles. He'd made a double batch for a reason.

"Here, have some of this first."

He couldn't resist. As he passed off the mug, he had to scruff the kid's hair. To his surprise, instead of swatting at him, Chuck just leaned into the touch and sighed.

"Headache?"

A nod. "Couldn't get comfortable. I'm all achy and cranky, and it's like it went right to my head."

Well, shit. How was he supposed to resist that?

"Gimme a bit to make us some tea and put everything away, and you can use me as a body pillow for a while, okay?"

"'Kay."

Another, more gentle scruff, and he went back to the counter to get everything settled. A mug of water on the hotplate, another just to one side for when the first boiled. Two teabags, two spoons. He left one tub of soup out on the counter in case the kid wanted a refill but stacked the others in the mini fridge. The backpack, he leaned against the desk out of the way.

"Jesus, Ray. I didn't think this shit could get better. What the fuck are these noodle things?"

He grinned, looking back over his shoulder to see the kid shoveling in bliss. "Homemade egg noodles. They'll stick with you longer than the vegetables."

"They're bloody awesome."

"Good."

One cup boiled, so he switched it out, dropped in a teabag and a dab of honey, then took it over and handed it off. Chuck's grin was distorted by a mouthful of egg noodles, but it was no less bright for all that.

"Ibuprofen?"

Swallowing, the kid shook his head. "Honestly, I already feel loads better."

Okay, that was an outright compliment, and Raleigh couldn't help but be warmed by it. "Good." Ducking his head, he went back to the counter and fidgeted as he waited for his mug to boil. "The main chef said that, if you're feeling up to it, he'll make some sandwiches and send them over for lunch tomorrow. Think you'll be ready to try solid food by then?"

Intentionally slurping his soup, Chuck shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. This shit is like a four-course meal in a mug."

He rolled his eyes, though the comment again made him feel all warm and fuzzy. "You may feel different when your stomach starts growling and soup doesn't cut it."

"Ssh. Enjoying."

"Brat."

But he wasn't annoyed. Not even a little bit. In fact, he grinned while he finished up his tea and turned off the hotplate. Most of it was relief that Chuck hadn't gotten a wild hair up his ass to get up and do jumping jacks while Raleigh was gone. He hadn't known how sure he was that something would go wrong until he walked in the door and the big jerk was perfectly fine.

The rest? Well, he wasn't really sure about the rest. Probably just glad the kid was on the mend so they could both go back to their normal routine. Hopefully, with less latent animosity.

And when he went back over to the bed to see Chuck sitting up away from the pillows and looking at him expectantly, he didn't even put up a front of protest. He just climbed in between the pillows and Chuck's broad back, careful not to kick Max or spill anyone's tea, then got comfortable so the poor kid could get comfortable himself. When they settled and Chuck had the covers tucked around them like he wanted them and Max was cuddled up beside them just so, Raleigh took a moment to just be comfortable.

 _"So_ much better."

He grinned softly. "I'm glad I'm an effective body pillow."

"You do have your uses."

"Jerk."

"Oi, don't get your knickers in a knot. It was a compliment."

"Yeah, yeah. Eat your soup."

"Gladly."

He sipped his tea, debating whether or not he should pick up his tablet and start reading or just enjoy the quiet. They were coming close to the end. Inigo had just challenged the six-fingered man, who had run away with Inigo hot on his trail. Westley was about to slip away from Fezzik to find Buttercup. If he started now, Chuck might not let him stop reading until it was over.

He knew Chuck wouldn't kick him out as soon as the book was over, but... he found himself strangely reluctant to be finished.

Sighing, he decided it wasn't really his decision. "More story?"

That was an affirmative noise, even with the kid's mouth full.

So, despite his reluctance, he reached back to the desk and grabbed the tablet, and the chase was on.


	13. Chapter 13

"Inigo was gaining. He could see, instant to instant, flashes of the fleeing noble in the next room, and when he reached that place, the Count would have made it into the room beyond. But each time, Inigo was gaining. By 5:40, he felt confident he would, after a chase of twenty-five years, be alone in a room with his revenge."

He paused for a sip of cooled-off tea, feeling Chuck's impatience as strongly as his own.

"By 5:48, Buttercup felt quite sure she would be dead. It was still a minute before that as she stood staring at the Prince's knives. The most lethal looked to be the one most used, the Florinese dagger. She pulled it from the wall, put it to her breast. 'There are always too few perfect breasts in this world; leave yours alone,' she heard. And there was Westley on the bed. It was 5:48, and she knew that she would never die."

"So fucking cheesy." The kid shook his head, his hair tickling Raleigh's chin. "Can't figure why I'm smiling about it."

Raleigh tried to hide his own smile so it wouldn't show in his voice. He had no idea if he succeeded.

"It took Inigo until 5:41 before he actually cornered the Count in a billiard room. 'Hello,' he was about to say. 'My name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die.' What he actually got out was somewhat less: 'Hello, my name is Ini--' And then the dagger rearranged his insides."

"Bloody hell! Raleigh!" The louder tone brought about a short coughing fit.

He threaded his fingers soothingly through the ginger hair. "The force of the throw sent him staggering backward into the wall. The rush of blood weakened him so quickly he could not keep his feet. 'Domingo, Domingo,' he whispered, and then he was, at 5:42, lost on his knees."

"I fucking hate this goddamn story."

"Do you want me to--"

"Jesus, don't stop reading now!"

Smirking, he read on. "Buttercup was baffled by Westley's behavior. She rushed to him, expecting to be met halfway in a wild embrace. Instead, he only smiled at her and remained where he was, lying on the Prince's pillows, a sword beside his body. Buttercup continued the journey alone and fell onto her very one and darling Westley. 'Gently,' he said. 'At a time like this that's all you can think to say?' _'Gently,'_ Westley repeated, not so gently this time."

Thankfully, the tense body relaxed enough for a chuckle at his higher-pitched plea copied directly from the movie. Maybe Chuck would want to watch it when the book was done.

"She got off him. 'Are you angry at me for getting married?' 'You are not married,' he said softly. Strange his voice was. 'Not in my church or any other.' 'But this old man did pronounce--' 'Widows happen. Every day -- don't they, Your Highness?' And now his voice was stronger as he addressed the Prince, who entered, muddy boots in hand."

"Fucking finally! I want that wanker dead."

_Oh, Chuck._

"Prince Humperdinck dove for his weapons, and a sword flashed in his thick hands. 'To the death,' he said, advancing."

"Yes!"

Raleigh smirked. "Westley gave a soft shake of his head. 'No,' he corrected. 'To the pain.'"

"Oi, what the fuck?"

Ignoring the commentary, he read on. "It was an odd phrase, and it brought the Prince up short. 'I don't think I quite understand that.' Westley lay without moving but he was smiling more deeply now. 'I'll be only too delighted to explain.' It was 5:50 now. Twenty-five minutes of safety left, he thought. He didn't know there were only five. Slowly, he began to talk."

He shifted, then realized he needed a pee break. It was a seriously terrible time for it. If Chuck wasn't lying so heavily on him, he could probably just hold it, but....

Fuck it. It could wait.

"Inigo was talking too. 'I'm sorry... Father....' Count Rugen heard the words but nothing really connected until he saw the sword still held in Inigo's hand. 'You're that little Spanish brat I taught a lesson to,' he said, coming closer now, examining the scars. 'It's simply incredible. Have you been chasing me all these years only to fail now? I think that's the worst thing I ever heard of. How marvelous.'"

"Jesus, what a sick fuck."

"Inigo could say nothing. The blood fauceted from his stomach. Count Rugen drew his sword. Inigo pulled the knife from his wound and stuffed his left fist into the bleeding. His eyes began to focus again, not well, but enough to see the Count's blade as it approached his heart, and Inigo couldn't do much with the attack but parry it vaguely, push the point of the blade into his left shoulder where it did no unendurable harm."

"Ow."

He nodded. "Slowly, inch by inch, Inigo forced his body up the wall, using his legs just for pushing, letting the wall do all the supporting. Count Rugen struck again, but for any number of reasons, most probably because he hadn't expected the other man's movement, he missed the heart and had to be content with driving his blade through the Spaniard's left arm."

"Jesus."

"Inigo didn't mind. He didn't even feel it. His right arm was where his interest lay, and he squeezed the handle and there was enough strength in his hand, enough to flick out at the enemy. Count Rugen hadn't expected that either, so he gave a little involuntary cry and took a step back to reassess the situation. Power was flowing up from Inigo's heart to his right shoulder and down to his fingers and then into the great six-fingered sword and he pushed off from the wall then, with a whispered, '...hello... my name is... Inigo Montoya; you killed... my father; prepare to die.'"

Chuck tensed, impatience and anticipation all over him. Max whined, sensing the anxiety in the air.

"And they crossed swords. The Count went for the quick kill, the inverse Bonetti. No chance. 'Hello... my name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father... prepare to die.' Again they crossed, and the Count retreated around the billiard table. Inigo slipped in his own blood. The Count continued to retreat, waiting, waiting. 'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die.' He dug with his fist and he didn't want to think what he was touching and pushing and holding in place but for the first time he felt able to try a move, so the six-fingered sword flashed out -- and there was a cut down one side of Count Rugen's cheek--"

"Fuck yeah!"

"--another flash -- another cut, parallel, bleeding -- 'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die.' 'Stop saying that!'"

Chuck was practically thrumming against him, one hand grabbing a fistful of the fabric over Raleigh's thigh.

"Inigo drove for the Count's left shoulder, as the Count had wounded his. Then he went through the Count's left arm, at the same spot the Count had penetrated his." Despite a mighty need for another cup of tea, Raleigh raised his voice and shouted in his horrible Spanish accent. "'Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!' 'No!" "Offer me money--' 'Everything,' the Count said. 'Power too. Promise me that.' 'All that I have and more. Please.'"

"Oh, fuck yes!"

"'Offer me anything I ask for.' 'Yes. Say it.'" Lowering his voice to a deadly whisper, Raleigh finished the fight. "'I want Domingo Montoya back, you son of a bitch,' and the six-fingered sword flashed again. The Count screamed one final time then fell dead to the floor."

"Jesus, that is so bloody satisfying! This is the best goddamn book in the world!"

Grinning, he scruffed the kid's hair. "Does that mean I've earned a pee break before I read the rest?"

"Oh, shit. Yeah, lemme--" Chuck struggled to sit forward until Raleigh helped. "Sorry, mate. How long have you been holding it?"

"Eh, not long." Total lie. It felt like forever. Especially when he stood up and the adjusted position increased the urge. "Back in a sec."

"Oi, take your time. Jesus."

He felt infinitely better with his bladder empty, but he still needed to soothe his throat a bit before reading the end. He wasn't sure Chuck would be as happy with Humperdinck's finale as he was with the Count's, but it was what it was. And then, it'd be over.

What then? The movie, probably, but... what _then?_

He wasn't exactly frowning as he came out of the bathroom, but whatever expression was on his face lightened when he saw Chuck sitting up at the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor, Max in his lap and licking his face while Chuck petted him all over.

"Got a bit of a problem, mate."

Raleigh raised his eyebrows, because that didn't look like a problem to him. It looked _adorable._

"Max needs to go for walkies."

Oh. And Chuck obviously couldn't take him, and neither of them wanted Chuck left alone again, especially since Max would be gone, too, so Raleigh couldn't take him, either.

"Should we text Herc? See if he can take a break?"

"Might as well, yeah."

So Raleigh texted, then went to the fridge for something to cool his throat. "Juice?"

"Apple, please."

He grabbed a bottle of apple juice for Chuck and a bottle of white grape peach for himself, then sat down on the bed beside the kid. As soon as one hand was free, he used it to spoil Max even further with a few chin scritches.

"Such a good boy." He grinned as Max groaned and tilted his head back for more. It was such a Chuck method of getting what he wanted, but he supposed Chuck had to learn it somewhere. "Ya know, I wondered at first how such an awesome dog could belong to such a prick."

"Oi, that's real nice, Ray."

He leaned over to bump their shoulders together. "Still haven't figured it out, really."

"Oi!"

Snickering, he sipped his juice and scratched Max behind the ears. "After we get the whole walkies thing figured out, do you want me to keep reading? Or another round of Slapjack?"

Chuck eyed him. "Considering my knuckles are bruised from the last round, I'll take the end of the story, thanks."

He smirked. "Hey, now. My right hand actually swelled up for like an hour. You dealt out as good as you got."

It was the kid's turn to smirk. "True enough. But yeah, more story. Any word yet?"

He checked his tablet. "He says he's still in with Boeing, but he'll send over a tech. Is that okay?"

"Bonzer. The techs love looking out for Max. We always had volunteers when we were being deployed." He scruffed at the back of his dog's neck, grinning. "How do you think he ended up being Striker Eureka's mascot? He was the whole team's dog, yeah?"

"That is adorable." He smirked. "As is the tattoo."

Out of nowhere, the kid blushed and coughed. "Oi, shut it, ratbag."

He opened his mouth to torment the poor guy some more, but the promised tech knocked on the door. He'd hopefully have plenty of future opportunities to tease the brat, so he obligingly stood and picked up Max, cuddling the big baby all the way over to the door. He hadn't spent a lot of time around the dog -- a side effect of not having got on well with Chuck until now -- but he sort of liked the little guy.

The tech brightened as soon as Raleigh opened the door, and in no time, Max was leashed and happily trotting away without so much as a backward glance.

That done, he turned back to Chuck and grinned. "Read more now or wait until he's back?"

"Definitely now."

His eyebrows rose. The kid shrugged.

"The techs always keep him for longer than just walkies. And they might just take him back to Dad, anyway. Either way, I'm not waiting."

He grinned innocently. "As you wish."

"Never letting that one die, I see."

Gesturing for Chuck to slide back under the covers so he could climb back into bed, he grinned. "If I did, it _would_ be as you wished, which defeats the whole purpose of annoying you."

The kid held the covers up and sat forward, then leaned back and squirmed to get comfy when Raleigh settled himself against the headboard. "You are the worst."

"And yet, you're cuddling me."

"Oi, leaning against!"

"Same difference."

"Jesus, you're a pain in the ass. Shut up and read, ya ratbag."

He smirked, reaching for the tablet. "Can't do both, Cuddles."

Grunting, the kid crossed his arms and squirmed again, just to be a shit. "The literal worst."

"All right, all right." He tapped back to the story from the texting app. "Westley lay pleasantly on the bed. Across the room, the Prince held the sword high. 'Drop your sword, and if you do, then I will leave with this baggage here' -- Westley glanced at Buttercup -- 'and you will be tied up but not fatally, and will soon be free to go about your business. If you choose to fight, well then, we will not both leave alive.' 'I expect to breathe a while,' the Prince said. 'I think you're bluffing -- you've been a prisoner for months and I myself killed you less than a day ago.'"

Chuck snickered. "Not every day a bloke can say that and be stating nothing but the truth."

"'Possibly true,' Westley agreed. 'I might indeed be bluffing. I could, in fact, be lying here because I lack the strength to stand. All that, weigh carefully.' 'You are only alive now because you said _to the pain_. I want that phrase explained.' 'My pleasure.' It was 5:52 now. Three minutes left, though he thought he had eighteen. 'To the pain means this: the first thing you lose will be your feet,' Westley said. 'Below the ankle. You will have stumps available to use within six months. Then your hands, at the wrist. They heal somewhat quicker. Five months is a fair average.' And now Westley began to be aware of strange changes in his body and he began talking faster, faster and louder."

"Oi, fuck, he's gonna fucking die, isn't he?"

"'Next your nose. No smell of dawn for you. Followed by your tongue. Deeply cut away. Not even a stump left. And then your left eye--' 'And then my right eye and then my ears, and shall we get on with it?' the Prince said. It was 5:54. 'Wrong!' Westley's voice rang across the room. 'Your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish -- every babe that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries _Dear God, what is that thing?_ will reverberate forever with your perfect ears. That is what _to the pain_ means. It means I leave you to live in anguish, in humiliation, in freakish misery until you can stand it no more. So there you have it, pig, there you know, you miserable vomitous mass, and I say this now, and live or die, it's up to you: _Drop your sword!'_ The sword crashed to the floor. It was 5:55."

"Fuck fuck fuck--"

"Westley's eyes rolled up into his head and his body crumpled and half pitched from the bed. The Prince saw that and went to the floor, grabbing for his sword, standing, starting to bring it high when Westley cried out: 'Now you _will_ suffer: _to the pain!'_ His eyes were open again. Open and blazing."

"Thank fuck for that!"

"'I'm sorry; I meant nothing, look,' and the Prince dropped his sword again. 'Tie him,' Westley said to Buttercup. 'Be quick about it -- use the curtain sashes; they look enough to hold him.' Buttercup gathered the sashes and did what she could with tying up her husband. There was movement at the doorway and then Inigo was there. Buttercup cried out at the blood. Inigo looked around. 'Where's Fezzik?' 'Isn't he with you?' Westley asked."

"Wait, they're not killing that wanker?"

"Chuck."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Inigo leaned for a moment against the nearest wall, gathering strength. Then he said, 'Help him up,' to Buttercup. 'Westley? Why does he need me to help him?' 'Because he has no strength,' Inigo said, and suddenly on the floor the Prince began struggling mightily with the sashes and he was tied well, but power and anger were both on his side. 'You were bluffing, I was right the first time!' Inigo said, 'That was not a clever thing of me to let slip; I'm sorry.' Westley said, 'Let us try to find some place to defend ourselves; at least perhaps we can go together.'"

"Fuck, I _hate_ this story."

"And Fezzik said, 'Inigo, I need you please; I'm lost and I just need to see a friendly face.' They moved to the window. In the Prince's garden was Fezzik, leading the four giant whites. 'Oh, Inigo, I got lost and stumbled into the Prince's stables and found these pretty horses. I thought four was how many of them there were and four was how many of us there were too, if we found the lady -- hello, lady -- and I thought, Why not take them along with me in case we all ever run into each other.' He stopped a moment, considering. 'And I guess we just did.'"

"I love that bloke. Seriously."

He scruffed a hand through the ginger hair tickling his chin. "Inigo was terribly excited. 'Fezzik, you thought for yourself!' 'Does that mean you're not mad at me for getting lost?' While Humperdinck struggled, they jumped, one at a time, and Fezzik caught them gently and put them on the whites, and he still had the key so they could get out the front gate, and except for the fact that Yellin had regrouped the Brute Squad, they would have gotten out without any trouble at all. Westley shook his head. 'I am dry of notions.'"

Chuck grunted. "Understandable. Jesus. This author is as much a bloody sadist as the Count was."

"You have no idea." He chuckled, thinking of all the bits he'd deliberately left out. "'Child's play,' of all people, Buttercup said, and she led the group toward Yellin. 'The Count is dead; the Prince is in grave danger. Hurry now and you may yet save him.' Not a Brute moved. 'They obey me,' Yellin said. "And I am in charge of enforcement, and--' 'And I,' Buttercup said, standing up in the saddle, a creature of infinite beauty and eyes that were starting to grow frightening, 'I... am... _THE QUEEN!'"_

"It's about goddamn time!"

"There was no doubting her sincerity, or power, or capability for vengeance. 'Save Humperdinck,' Yellin said, but clearly his heart wasn't in it as they all dashed into the castle. 'Actually, that was something of a fib,' Buttercup said as they rode for freedom, 'seeing as Lotharon hasn't officially resigned, but I thought _I am the Queen_ sounded better than _I am the Princess.'_ 'All I can say is, I'm impressed,' Westley told her. Buttercup shrugged. 'I've been going to royalty school three years now; _something_ had to rub off.'"

Chuck snickered. "Right, she might be good enough for Westley, after all."

"I'm glad you approve." He smirked and read the last bit, deciding to do as the abridger had done and leave off the ambiguous ending in favor of one closer to the movie's. "She looked at Westley. 'Are you all right? I was worried about you back on the bed there. Your eyes rolled up into your head and everything.' 'I suppose I was dying again, so I asked the Lord of Permanent Affection for the strength to live the day. Clearly, the answer came in the affirmative.' 'I didn't know there was such a fellow," Buttercup said. 'Neither did I, in truth, but if He didn't exist, I didn't much want to, either.'"

"Oi, buncha saps."

"The four great horses seemed almost to fly toward Florin Channel. 'It appears we're doomed, then," Buttercup said. Westley looked at her. 'Doomed, madam?' 'To be together. Until one of us dies.' 'I've done that already, and I haven't the slightest intention of ever doing it again.' 'Don't we sort of have to sometime?' 'Not if we promise to outlive each other, and I make that promise now.' Buttercup looked at him. 'Oh, my Westley, so do I.'"

Time for a little... freelancing.

"They leaned together and kissed, knowing they were safe. Westley decided to retire and live out his life with Buttercup. He turned the _Revenge_ and the title of Dread Pirate Roberts over to Inigo, who took Fezzik on as his first mate. And they all lived happily ever after." He grinned crookedly and tapped the tablet off, not really sure how he felt yet. "The end."

Chuck lay against him for a long, quiet moment, not reacting to the statement. The moment drew out until it was uncomfortable, so Raleigh reached up and ran his fingers through the kid's hair again.

"You okay?"

That ginger head twisted around to look up at him. "Just processing. I think I liked Inigo's revenge better than Westley and Buttercup's."

He nodded, still stroking soothingly. "Me, too. Making the prince live a long life with his cowardice sounds good on paper, but I dunno that he wouldn't hunt them the rest of their lives. I'd rather there was a solid end to him."

"Exactly." Frowning a little, mostly in his forehead, Chuck turned back around and dropped his head onto Raleigh's collarbone. "I just... oi, don't take this weird, mate, but... I kinda want you to read it again."

An odd feeling of relief filled him. He'd known Chuck wouldn't kick him out or anything, but....

Grinning, he scruffed that ginger hair again. "How about watching the movie? It's really funny, but in a different way than the book."

"Oi, forgot there was a movie of it." He nodded consideringly. "Yeah, mate. Let's do that." Another twist around to look up at him. "But I still want you to read it again afterward. Is that weird?"

Warmth filled him, and he grinned softly. He'd wondered 'what next?', but apparently, that wasn't an issue. He'd be useful for some time yet.

So, he let his grin widen. "As you wish."

"Oi, you rotten git."

Chuckling, he climbed out of bed and set about finding a way to get the LED to display on the wall opposite the bed. They had a movie to watch, after all.


	14. Chapter 14

Chuck's commentary during the movie was priceless. And weirdly enlightening.

Raleigh sat back against the wall again with Chuck stretched the length of the bed, his head pillowed on Raleigh's thigh, and found himself grinning stupidly at the chatter. By the time the grandfather sat down to read, Chuck had already given him the stink eye and said he fully planned to call Raleigh 'Grandpa' every time he wanted more reading.

But it was when the camera finally got a full-face shot of 1980's vintage Cary Elwes that the enlightenment happened.

"Jesus, who the fuck is that?"

"Westley, duh."

"No, I mean the actor."

His eyebrows rose as he looked down at the kid, whose wide eyes he could see even at such an odd angle. "Uh, not sure how to say the last name, but I think it's Cary Elwes."

"He is bloody _gorgeous."_

His eyebrows practically shot off his forehead. "Really?"

The kid turned his head to look up at him, the beginnings of a frown creasing his forehead. "Are you taking the piss? Look at his eyes, at that fucking mouth. Jesus, I wanna suck on his bottom lip."

He could only blink.

The frown settled in and the kid's eyes narrowed as he rolled fully to his back. "Please don't tell me you're a bloody homophobe."

A choked laugh huffed out of him. "That would make me something of a hypocrite."

Chuck's expression changed from impending doom to surprise, and Raleigh softened, then remembered that they were missing the movie and paused it.

"Just didn't think you were... er... on the same team."

Unconcerned now that it was all out, the kid shrugged. "Been with both, honestly, but I like blokes better. Women either expect too much emotional shite from me or want to mother me. For the most part, it seems like it's more honest with a bloke. We just wanna fuck, and that's all it is. Any of them try that alpha male bullshit, though, they can fuck right off."

Raleigh caught himself blushing and trying not to fidget. "Since we're doing the full disclosure thing, I've never actually done more than a little making out with a guy. Had plenty of women, but I wasn't really... sure. And we were very much in the spotlight, and I didn't want everyone speculating. Then that whole thing with Naomi and Yancy happened, and I just kind of checked out entirely for a while." He shrugged, uncomfortable. "And then...."

"'S alright, mate. You don't have to say anymore, yeah?"

 _Oh, thank God._ Because there was no way out of that conversation that wasn't either embarrassing or depressing as hell.

"Good. Movie?"

"Fuck, yeah." The kid rolled back to his side and resettled. "Not gonna lie, though. I'll be dreaming about that mouth tonight."

Closing his eyes, Raleigh shook his head. "You pop a boner in your sleep, and I will no longer be available as your body pillow."

"Oi, it's a biological function."

"That you can keep to your damn self."

The kid squirmed against him, just to be a shit. "Yeah, yeah, Prudish McChaste. Get the movie going again, yeah?"

To his credit, the brat graciously admitted that Buttercup was tolerably fuckable, as well. Raleigh just shook his head and waited for Fezzik and Inigo to show up.

It wasn't a disappointment.

"Holy shit, your Spanish accent is the worst." Chuck turned his head to gift him with a smirk. "Not gonna lie, though; still can't wait for the 'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die' part."

Raleigh couldn't help but grin, both annoyed and amused. "You won't be disappointed."

A few minutes later: "Oi, shrieking eels are way more fucked up than sharks. Why the hell did the book have sharks?"

"I dunno. Maybe Morgenstern saved all his imagination for the torture scenes."

"That's fucked up." The eels gathered and swam around. Then, the grandfather paused. Chuck grunted. "Jesus, did you stop there and give me shit just because the movie did?"

He chuckled and scruffed the kid's hair, then just ran his fingers through it. "Maybe a little bit. You did look pretty worried, though."

"Concerned, Ray. Not the same thing."

"That is almost a direct quote from a literal child."

"Oi, shut it."

And when the man in black and Inigo were dueling on the Cliffs of Insanity, Chuck actually made impressed noises. Raleigh couldn't help himself.

"You like the choreography?"

"Hell, yeah. There's snark to it, yeah, but it's also just... impressive. And I don't know a bloody thing about fencing."

Grinning, he stroked the kid's hair back from his forehead again. "For, like, sixty years, there was one guy everyone wanted to choreograph their sword-fighting scenes -- Bob Anderson. Everything from Errol Flynn movies to the Star Wars lightsaber fights. He was a fencing genius. He's the one who choreographed this whole thing, jokey parts and all."

Chuck turned his head to eye him curiously, so Raleigh paused the movie again. "How the hell do you know all that?"

He shrugged. "I loved movies as a kid. They were a nice escape."

The kid's expression became hard to read. "I forget you didn't exactly have the easiest life before all the shit with the PPDC."

This time, his shrug was jerky and unnatural, and he quit combing through the kid's hair to cross his arms and look away. "I actually had a pretty great childhood until Mom got sick."

After which it was helping her through the chemotherapy while their father drank himself into oblivion. Dealing with her death while their father abandoned them to their fate. Trying to keep Jazmine out of the system but having to give her up to go into the PPDC.

Yeah, they'd had a great span in the limelight in the jaeger program's golden years, but....

"Oi, sorry, mate. Didn't mean to--"

"It's okay." He shook his head and tried to smile down at the serious expression on the kid's face. "If nothing else, it gave me great taste in movies."

And Chuck, though he could be a real prick, forced a grin. "This one _is_ pretty good."

"It really is."

So he hit play and let it run. The man in black had just bested Fezzik when there was a knock at the door. Chuck grunted.

"Guess they decided to bring him back, after all." Raising his voice, he called out. "Yeah, come in!"

It wasn't a tech. It was Herc. _Sans_ Max.

"And how are my boys this after--" The marshal trailed off, took in the situation, then scowled mightily. "Oi, you pair of wankers!"

Raleigh blinked, surprised by the turnaround. "Sir?"

"I told you if you were watching the movie, I wanted to sit in."

Chuck snorted, then sniffled, though he didn't seem to actually need a tissue. "And I told _you_ you weren't invited, yeah?"

Rolling his eyes, Raleigh cut right through the banter. "We can start it over. Are you hungry?"

"If you still have soup, I can definitely eat." But the marshal waved him off as he went to climb out from under Chuck. "No, keep your seat. I can work a hotplate."

Chuck hmmed and made himself comfortable again as Raleigh settled. "Put in a scoop of mashed potatoes first."

Herc shot him a curious look.

The brat smirked. "Trust me."

Shrugging, the marshal did as instructed. "So, how're you feeling? Any better?"

"Yeah, I think so." Rolling to his back, the kid yawned and stretched, then grinned up at the ceiling. "Was able to walk myself in to take a piss earlier. About gave Ray a heart attack."

Raleigh rolled his eyes, even as he combed his fingers through the messy ginger hair. "I just turned my back for a second."

Unrepentant, the brat snickered. "I'd have called if I thought I couldn't make it back, yeah? I've no intention of cracking my skull, mate."

"You say that now." He shook his head. "I have the worst feeling I'll wake up at some point to find you trying to climb the outside of the shatterdome."

Chuck brightened. "I actually did that when I was fourteen."

Herc grunted. "Little shite waited until Lucky Seven was deployed, then snuck out from the tech I'd left him with and literally climbed the Shack's exterior. The tech -- who, I might add, ended up having to go to the infirmary to bring his heart rate down -- found him on the upper deck, pretty as you please, trying to get one of the chopper pilots to let him ride along to bring us back in."

He couldn't help himself. He sent a half-smirking, half-disappointed look down at the kid. Chuck, to his credit, looked a bit chastened, if still a little too pleased with himself.

"Oi, no lasting damage done. Turned out the bloke had a congenital heart defect no one knew about. Probably saved his life in the long run."

Rolling his eyes, Herc took a seat in the rolly chair and stirred at his mug of new and improved soup. "Not the bloody point." He took a bite. "Sweet Jesus, how can this possibly be _better?"_

Chuck smirked and turned his head to eye his old man without actually rolling back to his side. "Egg noodles. Raleigh makes _homemade egg noodles._ What the fuck, right?"

Fighting a blush, he shifted uncomfortably. "They're actually really easy. More a mess than a fuss, Mom always said."

Herc shot him a quick look, then seemed relieved that no undue emotion colored the statement. Raleigh had to admit that talking about his mother on and off with Chuck the past few days had taken a lot of the curse off his emotions, there. Yeah, there were painful memories, and he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive her for refusing to quit smoking after the diagnosis until she physically _couldn't_ anymore, but there were good memories, too. He much preferred to think about those.

"Well, they're amazing, no matter how easy they were to make." Indeed, the good marshal made a few embarrassing noises before gesturing toward the paused movie on the wall behind him and turning the rolly chair around to put it in view. "Do you boys mind starting over?"

Chuck grumbled but didn't actively protest, so Raleigh brought the menu back up and queued up the opening scene again. Just as he went to play it, Herc hmmed consideringly.

"Actually... what we really need is some popcorn."

Rolling back to his side and scooting until the back of his head rested comfortably against Raleigh's stomach, Chuck grunted. "Honestly, something crunchy and pointless does sound kinda good right now." He turned his head just enough to raise an eyebrow up at Raleigh. "Think it'd settle alright?"

Raleigh shrugged. "I have no idea. You haven't been nauseated for a day or so, right?"

"It was more that nothing tasted right until your soup."

Nodding, he considered. "The butter might sit heavy on your stomach, since you haven't eaten a lot of solid food in a few days, but I guess it couldn't hurt to try."

Herc pulled out his hand tablet. "I'm texting Mako. You boys don't mind if she joins us, right?"

Chuck grunted, again not actually protesting. "Thought she was in with the maths blokes."

Snorting, the marshal finished his text and sent it. "She's been locked in with those silly bludgers all day. I think she's earned a movie break."

Raleigh grinned. "You might also suggest she bring a chair." He scruffed Chuck's hair. "Your brat is a bed hog."

"Oi, it's my bed, innit?" Said brat pinched his thigh. "'Sides, it's not like I've kicked _you_ out of it yet."

He pretended not to see Herc's eyebrows shoot up. "Because I let you use me as a poseable body pillow."

The kid shot him a shit-eating grin. "Well, you are pretty good at it, mate."

He rolled his eyes. "Any word from Mako?"

Herc blinked. "Uh... yeah. She's, uh... she's on her way to the kitchens to microwave us a couple of bags." He checked his tablet again. "And we should commandeer the rolly chair from the empty bunk next door." Considering, he nodded. "That's not a bad idea, actually. I'll be right back, yeah?"

Raleigh started combing his fingers through the brat's hair again -- it had become something of a calming tic for both of them -- so Chuck only sighed and waved the marshal away.

"No rush, old man. Mori's probably not even to the kitchens yet."

When Herc obligingly went after the chair, Raleigh shot Chuck a careful look. "I think he's kinda weirded out by how... touchy-feely you are right now."

Or maybe how touchy-feely Raleigh was with him. Either way.

Supremely unconcerned, Chuck hmmed. "Eh, I've never been touchy-feely with him, is all." The kid paused, and despite how relaxed that big body was, Raleigh knew it was a pause and didn't break it. "Just... our problems didn't start with Mum dying, yeah?"

Oh. They were... talking about it. They were talking about it?

Apparently they were, because the formerly relaxed body began to tense, despite Raleigh switching over to actual head massage instead of just running his fingers through the kid's hair.

"They argued a lot, way before the kaiju showed up. Mum wanted Dad to retire and come home to us, or at least take a commission at a base closer to home. He never would, and it was a constant thorn in both their sides."

Sighing, Raleigh rubbed his other hand up and down the kid's arm, slowing to gently rub the tense shoulder every now and then.

"Then, the kaiju showed up, and the argument just got bigger, yeah? So... we've never been... I mean, we just...." Frustrated, the kid rolled all the way over and buried his face in Raleigh's stomach, curling up against him, making himself surprisingly small for such a big guy. "Sorry, mate. Just... he doesn't make me feel better like you do. That's probably a dick thing to say about my own dad, but I can't help it."

Not sure if he should be flattered by or sad at the admission, Raleigh could do little more than stroke down the poor guy's hunched back a few times, hoping it helped somehow. It was a shame that, for all their strides since Pitfall, the Hansens still weren't able to let go of their past completely. Not that he thought it was as simple as that, of course.

After all, he'd only recently made some sort of peace with his mother's death, and he'd had plenty of time to say goodbye to her while haunting her bedside as she inexorably faded. Although he'd certainly never made any kind of peace with his father's defection.

_...Huh._

Weird coincidence.

But at least Herc was _here._ That had to mean something. The man may have made a botch of their relationship by dragging Chuck from shatterdome to shatterdome and accidentally making sure any hint of stability or safety had died with his mother, but he hadn't run off entirely and left the poor kid alone to fend for himself.

But he didn't think Chuck was ready to hear that right now, so he just hmmed a bit and kept stroking up and down that broad back until it relaxed a little. Without prompting, the kid rolled back to face the display as soon as they heard the door to the next bunk over clang closed.

The moment passed.


	15. Chapter 15

"Okay, no offense, but the Fire Swamp is _so_ much better in the movie, mate."

Grinning, he shrugged. "I didn't write it. I just read it for you."

Mako shooshed them. She'd done that a lot, actually, though she tended to smirk at Chuck's commentary almost as much as Raleigh did. Surprisingly, the kid actually shooshed after each admonishment, at least for a while. Pretty amiable for a jerk who had kicked out two of the three people currently sharing his room.

Then again, the novelty of popcorn had made all four of them pretty agreeable.

Unfortunately, through it all, Raleigh wasn't sure how to feel. He very much enjoyed watching the movie again, of course. He hadn't watched _anything_ in so long he couldn't even remember the last thing, and _The Princess Bride_ had always been a favorite. He also liked having both Herc and Mako around, all of them just taking a couple of hours to relax and let the burdens of the world slide from their shoulders.

He was even relieved that Chuck was doing so much better. The kid hadn't dozed off once, though he clearly felt no obligation to sit up on his own power. Then again, considering Raleigh obligingly played with his hair every time the brat butted his head back against his stomach, there wasn't much incentive for him to do so.

But he also felt... a strange melancholy, and he couldn't pin it down. Everything was going so well. Why wouldn't he be simply, uncomplicatedly happy?

Maybe because... the movie would end. And yes, Chuck wanted him to read the story again, but the kid was obviously on the mend. Who knew what would happen then? If this nice, comfortable moment with all of them together would ever happen again?

Yeah. Maybe that.

He tried to shove it away, though. The scene at Miracle Max's helped, what with both Raleigh and Herc being aghast that neither Chuck nor Mako knew who Billy Crystal and Carol Kane were. And the Impressive Clergyman, of course. "Mawwage is what bwings us togevah today" was always good for a laugh. And considering the brat snickered himself into a coughing fit because of it, Raleigh had no doubt Chuck would pull that speech impediment out on the regular.

Provided they ever so much as spoke again after the kid was back on his feet.

Raleigh really, really needed to stop thinking about it. It was clear that they'd buried enough of their animosity to at least be polite from here on out, if not actively friendly. And Chuck seemed genuinely grateful -- in deed, if not in word -- for all the caretaking, so it was unlikely he'd never want to speak to Raleigh again or anything so dramatic.

"Yes!" Out of nowhere, Chuck grabbed Raleigh's knee and squeezed. "God, you read that fight _perfect,_ mate! So bloody satisfying!"

Oops. He'd zoned out for Inigo's revenge against Count Rugen. Forcing a grin, he scruffed Chuck's hair.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"Fuck yeah."

Mako shot him a smirk even as she shooshed them. His grin back at her was much more real. He loved seeing her relaxed and enjoying herself. Even Herc looked like he'd finally shrugged the world off his shoulders for a few minutes.

And when Westley suggested he had the strength to stand, after all, and actually did so, Chuck turned his head to smirk up at him.

"Next time you read that part, I'm gonna need you to do a musical crescendo. This is _way_ more satisfying than the bit in the book, yeah?"

He couldn't help but smirk and scruff the brat's hair again. "You wanna talk about the importance of musical cues? We need to watch _Halloween_ next. Without its musical score, it's borderline silly. It's the music that makes it."

"Sssh!"

"Sorry, sorry."

Winking, the kid lowered his voice to a whisper. "You're on, mate."

Raleigh's eyebrows rose. That was... reassuring? He thought it probably was. Not that they'd be watching another movie, necessarily, but that it was a _foregone conclusion_ that they'd be watching another movie.

But Chuck's attention was already back on the film, and the foursome were riding away to safety. Mako awwed when Fred Savage admitted he didn't mind one last kiss so much and the grandfather read it out for him. Chuck shot him a curious look, so he admitted he'd editorialized a bit because the book's "real" ending was depressing and open-ended and he didn't want to put someone as ill and miserable as Chuck had been through that kind of torment.

Mako awwed again. Chuck and Raleigh both rolled their eyes while Herc snickered at them.

Unfortunately, as soon as the credits began to roll, Herc eyed the time and sighed, and Mako stood to stretch. The quiet interlude was over.

Surprisingly, it was Chuck who stopped the melancholy from sinking in too deeply.

"We should make this a routine thing, yeah?" The brat sat up and stretched. "You two could use the occasional break, and Raleigh cheats at Slapjack."

"Hey!"

Herc shot Raleigh a narrow-eyed look. "Don't even start, kid. I remember Manila. I think Scott still owes you ten quid."

Feeling unfairly attacked -- or at least trying to _look_ unfairly attacked -- Raleigh slumped back against the wall and crossed his arms. "I've never cheated in my life." A smirk snuck across his mouth. "I just look innocent, so no one suspects me of bluffing."

Mako smiled innocently. "I can vouch for that. I never saw him cheat in the Drift."

They exchanged in-cahoots winks, silently agreeing that there were grey areas in the strict division between "cheating" and "not cheating" that were better left unacknowledged. Neither Herc nor Chuck was impressed, if their matching skeptical expressions were any indication.

"Anyway." Herc gave up on skepticism to grin. "It _would_ be nice to get together with my kids on the regular, yeah?"

Raleigh, Chuck, and Mako all three stared, wide-eyed. The marshal shifted, uncomfortable with the sudden attention.

"Oi, what? I'm not allowed to take in a couple of strays?" Another uncomfortable shift. "Or take a little time to spend with them, for once in my life?"

Though he was astonished by Herc's offhand, too-casual comment that they were all his kids now, Raleigh couldn't help but shoot a glance to gauge the emotional weather on Chuck's face. That admission came awfully close to issues the kid had brought up earlier that were still unresolved between father and son.

Indeed, Chuck looked... pole-axed. Too surprised to be either angry or pleased. So it was Mako -- wonderful, understanding, and imminently tactful Mako -- who ended the discomfort.

"We can hash out a time for the next movie night later." When everyone still stared uncomfortably, she wrapped her arm around Herc's and nudged him with her shoulder. "I, however, must get back to Dr. Gottlieb's group. I don't dare leave them unattended for too long."

Shaking off some of the intensity, Herc managed to grin down at her. "I left a boatload of correspondence to rot whilst I sat in with Boeing, so I oughtta get back, too." The complex expression returned as he, too, tried to gauge the weather on Chuck's face. "You boys don't have too much fun without us, yeah?"

Chuck remained quiet, so Raleigh scrambled to fill the gap.

"We make no promises."

It wasn't much of a snark, but it did the trick of getting Herc and Mako out of the room before Chuck finished processing and perhaps said something they'd all regret. Raleigh didn't like to think the kid would be like that at this late date, but... well, the younger Hansen wasn't any less unpredictable than he'd ever been.

And, seriously, the quiet was beginning to feel ominous.

"Tea?"

A shrug. Raleigh took it for an affirmative, mostly because he wanted something, _anything_ to do. Oddly enough, as he stood up, Chuck did, too, then leaned against the counter next to him and crossed his arms, frowning a bit at the floor.

Definitely feeling physically better, anyway.

"Did you want to jump right into _Halloween,_ or do you want me to read again first?"

The kid shook himself, almost like he was just waking up. "Eh?"

Grinning a bit and fiddling with a teabag, he repeated himself. " _Halloween_ or another read-thru?"

"Oh." A shrug. "I dunno. Maybe the movie? Feeling a bit restless."

He nodded. "You have been pretty cooped up. I imagine you're a _lot_ restless."

Of course, he doubted being cooped up had much to do with this particular restlessness, but he wouldn't be the one to point that out.

"Oi, fuck that, mate." Chuck eyed him, somewhere between annoyed and weirdly fond. "That innocent face doesn't cut it with me anymore. I know you're a bloody shark under the puppy eyes."

Mouth twitching, though he should probably dread the conversation to come, he raised an eyebrow. "You're calling my bluff?"

A snort. "I'm calling bullshit, is what I'm calling."

"All right, all right." The water boiled, so he honeyed and dropped in a teabag and stirred and handed it off, then started another for himself. "I just didn't think you'd want to talk about it and was trying to give you an easy out."

"Appreciated." The kid nodded and idly stirred his tea. "But no. I'd much rather talk about it with you and get my shit straight than try to sort it with him and say something I can't take back, yeah? We don't have the Drift anymore to smooth that kind of thing over."

He blinked, impressed. Chuck shot him a rueful glance.

"Mandatory therapy."

He blinked again, even more impressed. "Jesus, you're that far into your therapy?" When the kid shrugged, Raleigh shook his head. "I'm still stuck on my nightmares from Pitfall. I'm nowhere near dealing with anything before that." He managed his own rueful grin. "Honestly, I think my shrink is afraid to dig around too much at this point. He said _he_ had nightmares when I wigged out trying and failing to tell him what that other dimension looked like."

And he hadn't talked about it since. With anyone. Once was bad enough.

Chuck shook his head and took a cautious sip. Apparently, it was still too hot. "Guess I went the other way and started at the beginning. Pitfall was fucked up, yeah, and I'll have to deal with it down the road, but... yeah. Reckoned I'd ruin any chance with Dad if I didn't deal with the old shite first."

He smiled softly, absurdly proud. He'd have never in a million years thought Chuck Hansen could be so self-aware, let alone that he'd speak so openly and frankly with _Raleigh,_ of all people. Hell, he'd half-expected the kid to ditch therapy as soon as the required ten sessions were over. Raleigh wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd been tempted to do so himself.

His water boiled during the long -- but not uncomfortable -- silence, so he finished up his own mug and gestured toward the bed. Chuck went along easily enough, starting to look a little weary around the edges. It could have been the topic of conversation wearing him out, though, so Raleigh tried not to worry. And he sat in the rolly chair instead of on the bed. He suspected the kid might need some space.

He immediately reevaluated when Chuck gave him the abandoned puppy eyes. Putting up a hand in mitigation, he got up and crawled over to sit beside the kid, their backs to the wall. The brat even scooted over until their shoulders bumped.

Hiding a grin, he test-sipped his too-hot tea. "So, does it bother you that Herc has sort of adopted me and Mako?"

The kid frowned -- consideringly, Raleigh thought, not angrily. "I don't think so." He shook his head slowly. "It was more the bit about finally taking time to spend with us. I know for a fact he did his ten sessions and quit on the grounds that he was swamped as marshal, so I somehow doubt anyone pointed out to him that he's pretty much never been there for me, even before the kaiju."

It was old bitterness talking, so Raleigh decided not to point it out. The kid was clearly aware of his sore spots.

"I just... it hit me wrong, yeah? That he wants to be around now when it wasn't important to him before. Like he finished his big project, stopped the kaiju, so now he finally has time for this other thing he's been ignoring. Like I'm the correspondence he didn't fuss with so he could talk to Boeing about giving jaegers fucking jetpacks."

Aaaannnd that was new bitterness talking. Sighing, Raleigh acknowledged to himself that he was the worst person in the world to consult on the subject of paternal abandonment. Unfortunately, he appeared to be the only person -- besides his therapist -- the poor guy was willing to consult.

"Chuck, I can't even begin to know how it feels to play second fiddle to pretty much everything your whole life."

The kid let his head fall back to clunk against the wall. "Thank you for that painfully accurate summary."

That probably shouldn't make him want to grin, so he hid it behind an actual sip of tea. "Look, you're talking to the guy whose dad abandoned his three underage children practically the day his wife was buried. I get _physical_ abandonment. I'm not up-to-speed on emotional abandonment, okay?"

Chuck sighed. "Yeah, okay."

He nudged his shoulder against Chuck's. "At least your dad took you with him."

Unimpressed, the brat nudged back. "That's what my shrink said."

His eyebrows rose.

"Well, not in so many words."

He didn't hide his grin this time, though it only made it halfway onto his face. "I know it doesn't help."

The kid met his gaze, his eyes shadowed enough that Raleigh couldn't quite make out the color. It had never occurred to him that he had no idea what color Chuck's eyes were. They hadn't exactly been close enough to tell without punching each other until recently.

"It might if it didn't sometimes feel like he _didn't_ take me with him." Which was, of course, the essence of emotional abandonment. "Fuck, mate, I know he's trying. _Now._ Just... sometimes, it feels too little, too late, yeah?"

Sighing, the kid shifted around to slump against him and lean his head on his shoulder. Raleigh didn't protest. He wondered if they'd even be having this conversation if Chuck's filters weren't a bit off from still being under the weather, then decided it didn't matter.

"I'm not gonna sit here and defend him." He tilted his head until it leaned against Chuck's. "I don't know how it was, for him or for you. Just... remember how you said you'd lose any chance with him if you didn't deal with the past before attacking Pitfall?"

The heavy head on his shoulder nodded.

"Maybe... fuck, man, I'm the worst with advice, but maybe that's more important than how long he took to get his head out of his ass."

Chuck didn't answer for a long time. After a while, though, he nudged his head against Raleigh's jaw. Grinning to himself, Raleigh did as silently requested and shifted to put his arm around the demanding brat's shoulder and run his fingers through the messy ginger hair. He thought of Max lifting his chin for scritches and snickered.

"Oi, what? I'm having a moment here, ya ratbag."

"Nothing. Ignore me. Contemplate away."

But Chuck grunted and squirmed closer, leaning against him more heavily. "You are shockingly difficult to ignore these days, mate."

It was a sign of how weird things had become that Raleigh actually got the warm fuzzies from the statement. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

"Whatever kicks your knickers."

He grinned. "Movie?"

"Fuck it. Bring it on."

Grinning, Raleigh brought it.


	16. Chapter 16

Though Chuck no longer needed to sleep sitting up -- he coughed pretty regularly and still sounded sort of barky, but it seemed he'd missed pneumonia, after all -- the brat still cuddled up against Raleigh's chest before conking out halfway through _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ , which had naturally followed _Halloween_. Luckily, the kid's sinuses had cleared enough that mouth-breathing wasn't an issue, and Raleigh was relieved to not be drooled on.

However, he wasn't used to sleeping so much, so halfway through the flick, he found himself wide awake and restless but reluctant to ease himself out from under the obviously comfortable jerk sleeping so soundly on him. He didn't turn the movie off, but he did turn the sound down to a low murmur so none of the screams would wake his charge. And when the credits rolled, he didn't bother picking another. Instead, he turned the whole set-up off, took up his tablet, and flipped to a new book.

In retrospect, it was a good thing he'd been reading a lot since Pitfall. He was nominally still on medical leave, though his latest drivesuit burns had healed to scars and he'd finished physical therapy to rehab both his newly-injured right side and his old left-sided injuries that he'd ignored for five years. Unfortunately, no one had any idea how being in another dimension -- while running out of oxygen -- had affected him other than some notable but inexplicable changes in his brain activity, so... indefinite medical leave and semi-monthly tests and scans.

At least Chuck had been allowed to help in the jaeger bays once he was out of the infirmary. Mako had told him once that the kid sorted probably twice as much scrap as anyone else. Raleigh sort of understood that kind of drive. Envied it, even. He only managed that purely physical state of being when he trained these days, and he missed it.

But it _had_ given him plenty of time to read, which had the handy side effect of keeping him from being bored while acting as Chuck's pillow. He was restless from having to be still, but he had no real urge to get up and _do_ something.

Thus, he was surprised to wake up alone and curled up on his side, facing the wall. It took him a long moment to figure out where he was, in fact.

Chuck's bunk. Because the kid was sick. And out of bed?

Worried now that he realized why being alone in bed might be a problem when it had been his usual state of being for longer than he cared to admit, he sat up and twisted to search the room, then relaxed when he realized the kid was standing calmly over by the hotplate. Thank God the big jerk hadn't decided to go for a stroll without so much as leaving a note so Raleigh would at least know where to look for the unconscious body.

Relief faded under a wash of dizziness from sitting up so quickly out of a sound sleep, and he groaned and slumped, clapping a hand to his forehead. Chuck shot a frowning glance at him.

"You all right then? Not coming down with the flu, are you?"

"No." But it was barely more than a grunt. "Just sat up too quick. Got a little light-headed."

"Oh, it has nothing to do with the fact that you've been running on nothing but popcorn and a few slices of bacon for days now?" The brat's eyes narrowed. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

Sighing, he rubbed his hands over his face, then scooted over to the edge of the bed, not quite ready to stand up yet. "I was more concerned with getting you back on your feet."

Rolling his eyes, the big jerk strolled over and thrust a mug of hot soup into his hands. "Well, mission accomplished, so eat."

He wanted to protest -- he was the caregiver here, dammit -- but instead, he smirked. "As you wish."

"Oi, fuck off and eat." Chuck narrowed his eye again and pointed at him. "And we're getting sandwiches for lunch. I'm sick and tired of this room, so I don't care if I pass out halfway there; we are by God going to the goddamn caf. Got it?"

What the hell happened while he was asleep? Yeah, the kid had been restless and occasionally cranky about it, but up until now, he'd at least been content to stay put long enough to get his strength back.

Then again, though he'd clearly lost more than a few pounds, Chuck looked plenty strong at the moment, standing there glaring with his Irish up.

Raleigh's mouth twitched on a suppressed smirk. "As you wish."

"Jesus. Just eat already. I'm taking a shower."

So he ate while the brat washed up and was surprised by how hungry he was once his stomach realized food was in reach. He'd been _all about_ eating everything he could get his hands on after being on rations for so many years. The shatterdome cafeteria's selection wasn't limitless, but it seemed so after working on the Wall. In fact, it had felt like an all-you-can-eat buffet. If he hadn't kept up his sparring and physical therapy, he'd have gained fifty pounds from the gluttony.

Mako found it hilarious. And liked to challenge him to a spar right after supper because she was as evil as she was amazing.

At any rate, it was no wonder his body was finally telling him off for ignoring it. It had only been a few days, but now that the crisis was over, his stomach was done playing second fiddle to Chuck's health.

Thus, he wasn't even ashamed as he went to the fridge and refilled his mug after scraping the bottom for every last piece of noodle. Plus, it had the benefit of Chuck actually nodding at him when he came out of the bathroom and found Raleigh impatiently waiting for the new serving to heat through.

"Okay, so I was hungry."

"Toldja."

He rolled his eyes. "And you're clearly feeling better. Have you eaten already?"

"Yes, mum, and had a bottle of juice. And took an antiviral."

Ah. Definitely feeling better if he'd actually read the packaging to see what he was taking. Sheepish at a glare he couldn't help but interpret as "you betrayed me", Raleigh shrugged.

"The doctor said they'd help."

A grunt. "Yeah, well... maybe they did." He scruffed a hand through his damp hair. "I was pretty bad off there for a bit."

It was a surprisingly generous admission, but Raleigh didn't dare bring too much attention to it. "But you're better now. So... what's on the agenda until lunch?"

"War? I wanna play until I beat you twice in a row."

Smirking, he tested his soup and found it just right. Grabbing himself an apple juice to go along with it, he headed over to the bed and set everything down on the desk. He reached for the covers, but Chuck beat him to them and shoved them all down to the foot of the bed, so he sat down and got comfortable instead.

"I'm telling you, it's just the luck of the draw." The smirk didn't exactly go away as he reached back for the deck and shuffled on the exposed mattress. "It's not like you can arrange the cards the way you want them. That's cheating, and we've already established I don't do that."

"Bullshit." The brat watched him like a hawk. Frankly, it was a little insulting. "There has to be some kind of strategy to it, or you wouldn't have won four times in a row last time."

He rolled his eyes and dealt out the cards. Once they each had their stack, he reached back for his soup, savoring the noodles and remembering how irritated his mother would be when he and Yancy deliberately scooped all the noodles from the pot, leaving mostly broth and vegetables behind for everyone else. He hadn't quite done that, but he'd be lying if he didn't admit that this cup contained a few more noodles than the one Chuck made for him.

The first game went to Raleigh, and Chuck made cranky noises about certain Alaskan ratbags who didn't teach people strategies to make it a fair fight. Smirking, he invited Chuck to shuffle and deal for the second game, just to remove any possibility of cheating or stacking the deck.

Raleigh won again. Chuck was not pleased.

Thank God, but the cranky brat won the third hand, and while the fourth hand was intense, it was probably the most entertaining of the bunch. Chuck trash-talked almost constantly, sometimes working up a cough but mostly just smirking more than was strictly necessary. Raleigh took the trash talk in stride, especially since his deck was currently about twice the size of Chuck's.

"Not the size of the gun that counts, mate. It's the caliber of bullets in the chamber."

"So you're saying you have a small dick."

"Oi!"

"That's a yes."

Flushing, the brat glared and took a round. "My dick doesn't need defending, asshole. It speaks for itself."

It took all of Raleigh's willpower to not grin. "Your dick talks?"

"Oi, fuck off and play already."

They both played tens, so they put out their three facedowns. Just before he turned his next card over, he realized Chuck looked a little more intense than before. Sure, the kid was down to maybe a dozen cards, but he still had an ace and a king.

_Oh._

Raleigh turned over an eight. Chuck brightened and flipped his own card. A seven.

"Oi, shit on a potato." Sighing, the kid slumped back. "Thought that was my bloody king. That's it then."

Though he already knew, Raleigh couldn't help but turn over Chuck's facedowns. King of clubs, three of diamonds, ace of hearts. No more face cards.

"Hey, you never know. We double up again, and you could take 'em all back with a trey."

Surprisingly, the kid shrugged it off. "I'm hungry, anyway. I'll get you next time, yeah?"

He couldn't help himself. "If you say so."

"Oi!"

But they were both smirking as they climbed off the bed and stretched. Scratching his stomach, Raleigh looked down at himself and realized he'd been in pajamas for several days now and, if he was honest, he really didn't want to put on "real" clothes.

"Hey, Chuck?"

The kid yawned, scruffing a hand through his hair.

"Would it be weird if we just go like this? I didn't bring anything but pajamas. I don't even have a pair of sweats handy."

Snorting, the brat gestured at his own attire. "I'm not getting dressed for sandwiches, mate. 'Sides, it's late for lunch, yeah? Not like the caf'll be wall-to-wall."

"True enough. Shoes?"

That got a considering frown. "Yeah, probably. I'm not getting back in bed with dirty socks, so... fuck. Where the hell did I put my boots?"

They rummaged around, hauling Chuck's boots out from under the bed -- likely Max's fault, as Chuck said the little bastard had a tendency to rathole anything he could drag away -- and Raleigh's out from under the desk, where he'd kicked them off what seemed like ages ago. Upon opening the door, Chuck decided it was chilly out in the hall, so they both pulled on hoodies before heading for the caf. Raleigh kept a close eye on the kid, but Chuck seemed far more interested in just looking around, taking in the boring shatterdome hallways as if they were fascinating.

Then again, the poor guy hadn't seen much but his own four walls all week.

"Stop hovering, mum. I'm fine."

He narrowed his eyes. "You do realize I'm the one who will or won't catch you if your knees give out."

"...Hover away."

Smirking, he elbowed the big jerk and pulled ahead right at the cafeteria doorway. He wanted two of everything, and they were just late enough in the lunch shift that some options might already be gone. He hadn't counted on the happy uproar from the kitchen crew at seeing them both out and about with Chuck clearly on the mend.

"Mr. Hansen, it's good to see you up and around. We were really worried there for a while." That was the scrawny chef from that first trip to the kitchens. "Mr. Becket told us you were better, but... well, seeing is believing, right?"

Oddly embarrassed by the glowing attention focused his way, Chuck blushed a bit and scruffed a hand through his hair. "Uh... right. Thanks, mate."

Raleigh, grinning at the thought that the poor kid had no idea how to deal with genuine concern, picked two turkey and Swiss on crescent rolls, two ham and cheese, and a chicken salad sandwich and headed further down for sides. To his further amusement, Chuck hurriedly grabbed two club sandwiches and practically ran to catch up with him and get past the gawking, smiling hubbub behind the counter.

Smiling innocently, he offered the kid some jello. "This can't be your first fan club. You're a jaeger pilot, and you probably have the highest kill count besides your dad."

"Oi, shut it." Grumbling, the big jerk handed back the blue stuff and reached for red instead. "'S not the same at all. Fan clubs are... at a distance, yeah? I see this lot every day." His kerfuffle turned a bit sheepish. "Well, usually."

The kid seemed content with two sandwiches, a bowl of jello, and a bottle of apple juice, leaving Raleigh to add coleslaw, potato salad, two grab bags of chips, and a bottle of water to his tray. Yeah, it was a bit much, but he figured Chuck might take a few bites here and there, too. Besides, he was hungry.

The seating area was about as empty as it ever got during open kitchen hours, but Chuck had still hunkered down in a corner, his back to a wall. Hiding a grin, Raleigh sat back against the adjoining wall and debated whether or not he should point out that the brat was trying to avoid any more fanclubbing. Considering the poor guy was already halfway through his first sandwich and eating like a starving wolf, he supposed he should just let the kid eat.

They didn't have to talk. They were comfortable enough with each other by now that Raleigh didn't feel like he had to entertain his old rival. If they were still cooped up in Chuck's bunk, maybe, but not here. And Chuck did, indeed, steal a bite of coleslaw and several bites of potato salad, though he -- probably wisely -- declined any chips on the grounds that the grease might be a bit much so soon.

Needless to say, Chuck finished first and immediately got chattery. Raleigh could only assume it was some sort of energy rush from eating solid food, or maybe a sugar rush from the jello. God only knew.

"So what are we watching tonight, mate? Not gonna lie, I kinda like the horror stuff. It's old and a bit silly, but considering some of the shit we've seen in real life, I think old and silly is right up our alley." The big jerk reached over, picked up the chicken salad sandwich, took a bite, and put it back down. "You said there were a bunch of sequels for both the Michael Myers one and the Freddy Krueger one, right? Are any of them any good? Is it weird that I rather want to watch them all in a row?"

He eyed his contaminated sandwich for a moment, then shrugged, guessed that four antivirals had surely ended the brat's contagious period, and took his own bite, chewing thoughtfully while the kid prattled on.

"Or, hey, you know movie shit, right? How about, like, a haunted house movie? I swear I watched some film with Mum where this family moved into a house where a bunch of murders had been committed, and the husband slowly goes nuts and tries to kill his family because the house, like, infects him with evil or something."

He considered, noisily munching away at the first bag of chips. "Probably one of the _Amityville Horror_ movies."

"Are there a bunch? Nice. Or do they suck? Mum seemed to think the one we watched sucked, but what the fuck did I know? I was, like, eight."

He wanted to be amused, but Chuck was easily two shades paler than he'd been when they sat down. It would seem the energy rush was already petering out, and underneath it, the kid was exhausted. Understandable, since he hadn't walked further than to the bathroom and back for probably a week.

"So if you know any better haunted house movies, maybe we should watch them instead. I just feel like a marathon, yeah? I wanna watch a _load_ of something. Maybe because I haven't really seen a lot of films? Does that sound--"

"Chuck?"

Far from looking irritated by the interruption, the poor guy just stopped talking.

"Will you promise you'll stay right here while I go get something to box the rest of this stuff up in?" He grinned softly. "I think you're about five minutes away from an involuntary post-lunch nap."

"Oi, I--" To his credit, Chuck stopped and considered, then slumped. "No, you're right, mate. I'm tired as fuck." A wry grin. "Just didn't realize it until you said it."

He reached over and scruffed the brat's hair, then trotted back to the counter for some boxes and a bag. One of the chefs looked concerned by his expression, but Raleigh switched over to a grin and said everything was fine, that Chuck just needed to rest because he was still getting back his strength. The lady nodded, then asked if it would help to have some more sandwiches sent over around supper time. Brightening, he agreed and thanked her. If Chuck protested, Raleigh could always say he'd arranged it because movie marathons should be uninterrupted.

The poor kid looked beat when he got back to the table, so he offered a supporting arm and was relieved when Chuck actually accepted it, throwing his own arm over Raleigh's shoulders. They got a few raised eyebrows, but Raleigh just shook his head and smiled reassuringly. Chuck was fine, just tired.

And when they got back to the bunk, Raleigh only paused to put his bag on the desk before sitting Chuck down on the bed and kneeling to take off the yawning brat's boots.

"Thanks, mate."

"No problem."

He pulled back the covers and practically rolled the poor guy in, then tucked him in all cozy and covered. Unfortunately, when he was done, he realized Chuck was watching him with tired, bleary -- but still somehow puppyish -- eyes.

"You're not coming in?"

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he scruffed the kid's hair. "Thought I'd finish my lunch and read so I don't bother you. I doubt I can sleep at the moment, and I don't want to keep you up if I get restless."

Oddly enough, Chuck actually looked disappointed. "Oh. Right."

All he could do was shrug. "Sorry. Insomnia makes it hard enough to sleep at night, let alone during the day. I've slept more in the past few days than in the past month combined."

The kid nodded, still looking disappointed. "You won't leave, though, right?"

Raleigh smiled, suddenly feeling ridiculously fond of the awkward, cranky duckling he'd taken under his wing. "You said you wanted a movie marathon later, didn't you?"

Chuck nodded and let himself yawn. "Haunted house films."

"So no. I'm not leaving. I promise."

"Okay."

The bleary eyes closed, so he gave in and ran his fingers through the kid's hair. It didn't take long for the poor guy to fall asleep after that. Grinning, Raleigh hauled himself over to the rolly chair he'd scooted into the desk's kneehole earlier and quietly removed his food loot from the bag. He wouldn't bother with the second bag of chips. Too noisy. But everything else was fair game.

So he tapped his tablet on, swiped to the movie library, and started a list of haunted house movies. Chuck wanted a movie marathon?

Chuck was by God getting a movie marathon.


	17. Chapter 17

Raleigh had a dilemma. He hadn't joined Chuck in a nap because he knew he wouldn't sleep and worried that his restlessness would keep the kid from sleeping deeply, too. Unfortunately, said kid _wasn't_ sleeping deeply. He kept shifting position and frowning, coughing occasionally, and generally didn't seem to be either comfortable or getting any real rest.

So... should he climb in after all and let the poor guy use him as a body pillow, even knowing his own restlessness might be a problem? Or maybe quietly read something aloud, since that had helped calm the kid during his more feverish sleep? He couldn't just ignore the restless near-thrashings.

Sighing, he grabbed himself a cranberry cherry juice, sat back down, and tapped his tablet back to the current book he was reading. Chuck had talked about haunted house movies earlier, and one of Raleigh's favorite haunted house stories -- well, more of a "haunted town" story, really -- was Stephen King's _Bag of Bones._ He remembered sitting at his mother's bedside, reading that line about sorrow like cholesterol and feeling like someone finally understood.

God, and thinking of the years between Knifehead and now, mourning Yancy's death as the infinite, soul-crushing loss it was, he only felt that line more.

He also loved that King actually made the ghost's otherworldly plight sympathetic. If not for her punishing future generations that had nothing to do with the original crime, anyone would agree that she was justified in her destiny-changing rage. So, he opened his juice, took a sip, and started reading aloud.

"She looked about seventy and was wearing black shorts over a black tank bathing suit. The combination looked strangely formal, a variation on the ever-popular little black cocktail dress. Her skin was cream-white, except above her nearly flat bosom and along her bony shoulders. There it swam with large brown age-spots. Her face was a wedge featuring prominent skull-like cheekbones and an unlined lamp of brow."

It was probably just the sound of his voice, but Raleigh couldn't help but notice that the kid's near-constant shifting slowed.

"Beneath that bulge, her eyes were lost in sockets of shadow. White hair hung scant and lank around her ears and down to the prominent shelf of her jaw. _God, she's thin,_ I thought. _She's nothing but a bag of--"_ He paused for effect. "A shudder twisted through me at that. It was a strong one, as if someone were spinning a wire in my flesh."

The restlessness definitely eased, though the kid rolled to his side, facing Raleigh's chair, a frown still making a line between ginger eyebrows.

"I didn't want her to notice it -- what a way to start a summer day, by revolting a guy so badly that he stood there shaking and grimacing in front of you -- so I raised my hand and waved. I tried to smile, as well. Hello there, lady standing out by the floating bar. Hello there, you old bag of bones, you scared the living shit out of me but it doesn't take much these days and I forgive you. How the fuck you doin?"

The line between the kid's eyebrows disappeared, and Chuck sighed.

"I wondered if my smile looked as much like a grimace to her as it felt to me. She didn't wave back. Feeling quite a bit like a fool -- THERE'S NO VILLAGE IDIOT HERE, WE ALL TAKE TURNS -- I ended my wave in a kind of half-assed salute and headed back the way I'd come."

Chuck's eyes opened, and he smiled just enough to activate that deep dimple, then closed his eyes again. He looked... reassured. Had he thought Raleigh had left, after all?

"Five steps and I had to look over my shoulder; the sensation of her watching me was so strong it was like a hand pressing between my shoulder blades. The dock where she'd been was completely deserted."

Voice hoarse and muzzy, the kid grunted without opening his eyes. "I dunno what it is, but I like it. Creepy as fuck."

Raleigh sighed. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"I hate this bed."

The image of Max tilting his head in a silent demand for scritches occurred again, and Raleigh shook his head, amused.

"All right, all right. Lemme get my boots off."

Blatant relief filled that familiar face, even with the brat's eyes closed. So Raleigh kicked out of his boots, pulled the covers back enough to crawl over the body and lay down between it and the wall, and waited for the big jerk to roll toward and half lay over him. When Chuck settled, Raleigh let the covers fall back over them both and took up his tablet with one hand, the other combing fingers through the mussed ginger hair.

"Should I keep reading?"

"Mm-hm."

Grinning a bit, he found his place. "The dock where she'd been was completely deserted. I squinted my eyes, at first sure she must have just retreated deeper into the shadow thrown by the little boozehaus, but she was gone. As if she had been a ghost herself. _She stepped into the bar, hon,_ Jo said. _You know that, don't you? I mean... you do know it, right?"_

Muzzier still, the kid mumbled. "Who's Jo?"

"Mike's dead wife. Sometimes, his thoughts are in her voice, like she said them."

"Who's Mike?"

"The main character."

A yawn, and the brat cuddled closer, though Raleigh would have sworn there was no space between them. "Who's the bag of bones?"

"He doesn't know yet."

"Oh." Another yawn, and the goofy dork actually nuzzled the fabric of Raleigh's hoodie. "Go on, then."

"'Right, right,' I murmured, setting off north along The Street toward home. 'Of course I do. Where else?' Except it didn't seem to me that there had been time; it didn't seem to me that she could have stepped in, even in her bare feet, without me hearing her. Not on such a quiet morning. Jo again: _Perhaps she's stealthy."_

Chuck snorted, grinning on Raleigh's chest.

"'Yes,' I murmured. I did a lot of talking out loud before that summer was over. 'Yes, perhaps she is. Perhaps she's stealthy.' Sure. Like Mrs. Danvers."

Muzzier still, on the verge of sleep. "The fuck is Miz Danvers?"

"A character from an old Gothic romance novel that's been on Mike's mind a lot. A crazy old housekeeper in an old mansion."

"M'kay."

He found his place again. "I stopped again and looked back, but the right-of-way path had followed the lake around a little bit of curve, and I could no longer see either Warrington's or the Sunset Bar. And really, I thought, that was just as well."

Chuck was a lead weight slung half over him and clinging like a limpet, so Raleigh grinned and ran his fingers through the brat's hair a few times, then went back to reading. He didn't bother doing so out loud.

Chuck was out cold.


	18. Chapter 18

Raleigh never did manage to sleep, but he was comfortable enough that he didn't get restless, and Chuck was able to snooze a couple of hours longer until he woke up on his own. Yawning and stretching luxuriously -- and accidentally punching Raleigh in the temple, but gently -- the brat seemed none the worse for wear from the earlier restlessness. When done, he slumped back down on Raleigh's chest, clearly in no hurry for the next thing.

"What'd I miss?"

"A new Breach opened, and a Category VI climbed out. We didn't have any jaegers to throw at it, so Herc yelled, 'You're not gonna wake my son!' and jumped into one of the choppers and dropped that spare nuke the Russian crew left right down its gullet as it tried to eat him."

Chuck snorted. "Still leaves the new Breach open, yeah?"

"Nope." Scruffing the brat's hair, he smirked. "It was so big that it was still halfway in the Breach when the bomb went down. Boom. Goodbye new Breach."

Grunting, the brat shook his head. "Dunno why we didn't try that before."

"Right? Talk about a time-saver."

The big jerk snickered. "You're a much better reader than a storyteller, mate."

"Rude."

"Whatever. What time is it?"

He glanced at the readout in the bottom corner of his tablet. "Just about suppertime, actually. The kitchen said they'd send over some more sandwiches for us."

The skin between ginger eyebrows creased. "Why's that, then?"

He hid his grin in case the brat looked up. "I asked them to. Movie marathon, remember?"

The crease disappeared. "Oi, fuck yeah. Didn't mean to sleep so long, though." The kid twisted his head to look up at him without actually sitting up. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Not a wink. I did get several chapters read, though."

Another frown. "This must have been the most boring however many days _ever_ for you."

He shrugged, finger-combing the poor kid's hair. "I'm on medical leave, anyway. Sitting around and reading has pretty much been my life since Pitfall."

Rolling his eyes, the brat poked him in the ribs. "Bullshit. I've seen you sparring with Mori and wearing out every piece of exercise equipment in the 'dome."

His lips twitched. "Eh, that's just so I don't balloon up from all the eating."

Another prod, this one at his abs. "Right, because there's an ounce of fat on you anywhere."

The grin tried mightily to escape. "I guess I can't be very comfortable to lie on, then."

"Fuck if I can explain it, mate." The brat snuggled closer, likely just to be a shit. "You're comfortable as fuck, is all I know."

"Thanks." He rolled his eyes. "I think."

"And you clearly go to therapy." A yawn, but not a terribly deep one. "And didn't I see you on the upper deck a few times, fucking about in the choppers?"

Huffing, he looked down at the mess of ginger hair and the freckled expanse of forehead. "Have you been stalking me?"

"Oi, no!" Another prod at his ribs. "I have eyes, don't I?"

He snorted, unconvinced but oddly unconcerned about the possibility. "If you must know, I was... getting lessons."

Blushing a bit, he shifted his legs, nearly dislodging one of Chuck's. He could feel the exact moment when the kid went from just yakking until he was awake enough to pay full attention to fully intent on the subject at hand. That big body tightened, and he saw the long, ginger eyelashes flutter open, though he wasn't at a good angle to actually see the kid's eyes.

"Like... flying lessons?"

Sighing, he supposed it was time more than Herc, Mako, and the two chopper pilots he'd been assigned knew. "Chuck, I piloted Gipsy solo. _Twice._ I ran out of oxygen and literally died for a few minutes in my escape pod. I was...." This time, it was _his_ body tensing. "I was in another dimension for God knows how long. The doctors have no idea how any of that affected me, but Herc made sure they noted in my record that I should never pilot a jaeger again, except in a last case scenario. For all we know, every blood vessel in my brain might pop all at once the second I so much as try to take a step."

The red-gold lashes fluttered twice. "Jesus Christ. I... I never even _considered...."_

He combed his fingers through Chuck's hair and let it soothe him -- both of them -- until taut muscles relaxed again. " _Indefinite medical leave_ is the official term. But I still want to be useful." He forced a huff of amusement he wasn't sure he felt. "God forbid I should bugger off and work on another Wall somewhere, eh wot?"

Chuck sighed. "Raleigh--"

"I know, I know. You forgive me. Whatever." He didn't give the big jerk a chance to comment before heaving forward and sitting up. He didn't let go, in case the kid wanted to hold on, but he couldn't be still any longer. "Maybe I'll be hauling your jaeger to and from battle next time, huh?"

The brat didn't quite jerk away, but he did pull far enough back that only their shoulders and thighs touched. Chuck looked flushed and bleary-eyed, his hair a mess both from the prior tossing and from Raleigh's fingers, and he still had sleep in the corners of his eyes, but Raleigh found himself grinning fondly, just the same. Before this week, he'd have never even dreamed of seeing the arrogant, brash Chuck Hansen in such a state. Now, he wondered how he'd ever seen the kid any other way.

As if he, too, realized he had sleep in his eyes, Chuck dug the heels of his hands into them. "Doesn't look like I'll be piloting, either. There were already rumbles that the old man was past it, but now that he's marshal, they've made him permanently ineligible for combat duty."

He blinked. "Huh. He never said." Frowning a bit, he elbowed the kid. "Maybe you should do a compatibility trial with Mako. She seems to be without a copilot, too."

The smile he got back was complex and... pained? "C'mon, mate. Do you really see me matching up with anyone but Dad? They were surprised _we_ managed it. Swear to God Tendo held his breath every time the neural bridge engaged." The smile failed, leaving the kid looking bereft. "No, mate. I'm not universally compatible, like Dad and Pentecost. In fact, Pentecost and I only withstood it because we both shared the same end goal, and we wanted it bad enough to make it work." He shook his head. "It wasn't a pretty Drift, Ray. We weren't completely in sync. I couldn't have held it with anyone else."

Raleigh wanted to scoff, but he'd seen the data from Pitfall, and he remembered the one time he and Yancy hadn't been in sync all too vividly. And with Chuck's attitude....

Yeah, he and Chuck got on much better since the kid got sick, but they'd been little more than uncomfortable acquaintances before that. And, while Raleigh admitted that he'd done as much distancing as Chuck had, he'd been the target of enough of the big jerk's shitty attitude to excuse himself, there. He was just protecting himself.

Though... maybe Chuck had been protecting himself, too. Maybe all along. Maybe from _everyone._

So, he quirked a crooked grin. "Maybe _we_ would've been compatible."

He knew good and well he was setting himself up for a jab. He was under no delusion that the Chuck Hansen he'd first met and the Raleigh Becket who'd been coerced back into the PPDC as a better way to die would have done more than implode into mental shrapnel in the Drift. If either of them had survived the trials in the kwoon with their heads still attached to their shoulders.

But he thought this Chuck might find the suggestion funny, if utterly impossible. So, he waited.

And he was pleasantly surprised when the brat grinned just as crookedly as he did.

"Maybe so, mate." The grin deepened until that left dimple dug in. "But I don't think anyone in their right mind would put pilots with your attention span and my temper in the same conn pod."

A laugh surprised out of him. "Touché." He considered, then laughed again, shaking his head. "Tendo would go gray overnight."

The brat stretched, smirking and back to himself again. "Might be an improvement over the Elvis hair."

Rolling his eyes, he crawled over the big jerk and out of bed, stretching when he gained his feet. "That's it. I'm starting to feel disloyal now." But he grinned when Chuck, too, crawled out of bed. "So go take a leak, because I have a whole playlist of haunted house movies picked out, and we're by God gonna get through at least one before supper is delivered."

"Bonzer."

Shaking his head, he watched his snarky but oddly adorable duckling stroll away.


	19. Chapter 19

Somehow, it was Mako who delivered their supper, handing off several bags worth of food with a smile that was perilously close to a smirk. Raleigh eyed her suspiciously, but she wasn't one to crack under pressure.

"How'd you get roped into being the delivery guy?"

She shrugged. "I was taking an early break. I have to get back with the engineers by eighteen hundred."

He frowned. "Wait, you're wasting part of your one break to bring us sandwiches we could've got for ourselves? I thought one of the kitchen staff was gonna run them over."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "I wanted to check on you both, anyway. I heard you were out and about earlier."

Chuck piped up from his place on the bed, where he was lounging like a king. "Better every day, Mori. Thanks for asking."

To his surprise, Raleigh detected no sarcasm in the tone, and he was extremely familiar with Chuck Hansen's sarcasm. But no. The kid seemed genuinely grateful for Mako's concern.

And Mako saw it and softened. "You're welcome. Do you need anything?"

But Chuck brushed this away. "Got more than enough, don't I? Was gonna ask if you were joining us for movie night, but sounds like you're already spoken for."

Her mouth twitched. "Yes, Chuck. My dance card is full."

Raleigh snickered and Chuck rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I'm glad you're feeling better." She grinned at them both. "Hopefully, everything will be better than normal soon, now that you two are finally getting along."

"Oi, go eat something, yeah?"

Raleigh grinned and leaned his forehead against hers, ignoring Chuck for the moment. "Thanks for bringing the food. I'm sorry they roped you into it, though. You will get something to eat, right?"

She grinned and nodded, her forehead rocking against his. "I already ate, and they didn't rope me in. I volunteered."

"Well, thank you."

She left with a grin and a wink -- he wasn't quite sure what to do with the latter -- so Raleigh climbed back into his place against the wall at the head of the bed, Chuck at his left in the middle of the bed's length, and started unpackaging whatever the kitchens had sent over. As usual, they'd gone to excess, and Raleigh made a mental note to remind Herc just how much the kitchen staff had invested in helping his son get better.

Just as an FYI. He somehow thought the good marshal might approve a few raises if he knew.

There were easily four or five of each variety of sandwich -- turkey and Swiss, ham and cheddar, beef and cheddar, tuna salad, chicken salad -- and three specially made club sandwiches, each stacked high with long toothpicks skewered through to hold them together. Raleigh didn't even try for one. All three went to Chuck, as he suspected the kitchen had intended.

Also included were little plastic tubs of coleslaw, potato salad, various flavors of jello -- but not the blue kind; the kitchen crew didn't miss a _thing_ \-- macaroni salad, and various fresh fruits, which he thought were a nice addition. Napkins. Plastic forks, spoons, and knives. Hell, he half expected to find after-dinner mints huddling at the bottom of the last bag.

But he appreciated the thought behind everything they'd sent, and he thought Chuck did, too. Everyone wanted the hero back on his feet with no ill effects from his sudden sickness.

So they ate like picnicking kings while _Poltergeist_ wound down, still gnoshing when Raleigh started the sequel and got up to get them both more juice. In fact, they were still grazing at sides in a lackadaisical way when Herc stopped by about halfway through _Poltergeist II._

"Oi, you boys feasting without me?"

Chuck smirked, unashamed. "Yeah."

"Nice. Real nice. Ooh, is that tuna salad?"

Since neither of them had gotten that far in their food orgy, Raleigh handed two of them over with a grin. "Are you done for the day?"

Sighing, Herc slumped down into the rolly chair by the bed. "Nah, mate, not yet. In fact, I was meant to meet up with Mako and the engineers go to over preliminary planning half an hour ago, but I got stuck on a call." Grumbling, he tore into a sandwich and went on with his mouth full. "Stacker never told me what a pain in the ass all the bureaucratic crap was."

Chuck snorted. "Would you have taken the job if he had?"

Herc shot him a careful look. "Tried not to take it anyway."

But the kid just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Not like any of us had a lot of choices."

Raleigh hid a sigh of relief. "Amen to that."

The brat elbowed him. "Thought you never did anything you didn't want to do?"

Smirking, he elbowed back. "I don't. But when your choices are 'do you wanna get torn to pieces' or 'can you prop yourself on your wrecked leg long enough for momentum to slice a kaiju in half on your one remaining sword', you don't exactly get to be picky."

Grinning -- and relieved, Raleigh would bet -- Herc shoved back to his feet, sandwiches in hand. "Plain to see you boys are doing all right, so I'll leave you to it." Another bite of tuna salad. "I don't mind keeping the engineers waiting, but Mako is another matter entirely."

Raleigh nodded, amused. "I completely understand. She'd never say a thing about it, but it just seems _wrong_ to not be punctual around her."

"Exactly."

With a tip of a half-eaten tuna salad sandwich to his forehead, Herc was gone, leaving them alone in a scatter of far too much food. Neither of them complained, though.

Before setting the third and final chapter of little Carol Anne's story going, Raleigh got up to stow as much of the leftovers as possible in the fridge. Anything perishable went in for sure. The jello, he left in easy reach on the desk. He figured they weren't quite done with it yet.

"Still dunno why the older sister wasn't in the sequel, mate. I mean, they didn't even say she was away at university or on holiday with friends or something."

Chuck had stretched out along the length of the bed, which was Chuck-speak for "I want you to pet my head when you sit back down". Raleigh didn't mind. He did decide to make them each a cup of tea first, though. He was almost as tired of juice as Chuck was of Pedialyte.

"Well, I dunno why they didn't at least _mention_ the character, but the actress who played her died after the first movie."

The kid blinked. "Jesus."

Ah, the soothing ritual of waiting for water to boil while fiddling with the tag on his teabag. Maybe the British had something, there, after all.

"Her boyfriend killed her. That probably started the rumors about the curse, just because it was so sudden and weird."

Uh-oh. He had the big jerk's interest, now. In fact, Chuck actually got out of bed and came over to lean back against the counter next to him.

"What curse?"

"There _isn't_ a curse, but even now, like forty-five years later, people still believe it." He grinned at the kid's raised eyebrow and gave into the silent demand. "Okay, so after the first movie, the older sister's boyfriend killed her. That was bad enough, but it got out that they used actual human skeletons for the part in the pool and in all the coffins."

Wide-eyed, the brat huffed. "That's fucked up."

"Apparently, real skeletons were cheaper than fake ones."

Chuck shook his head, fascinated.

"But the curse idea didn't really catch on until after the second one. The old guy, Kane? Well, you could see in the movie that the actor was in terrible health, and he died either during production or right afterward. I forget when exactly. And the Indian guy, Taylor? Died of kidney failure less than a year after the sequel came out."

The kid blinked. "Right. I can see that being... suggestive."

He grinned and dropped in a teabag and some honey, then stirred and handed off the mug. Chuck took it without looking, too arrested by the topic of conversation, so Raleigh just put the other mug on to boil and went on.

"But the real kicker was that, before the release of the third one... the little girl who plays Carol Anne died, too."

"You're shitting me."

"I shit you not." Trying -- and failing -- to look solemn because it shouldn't be a laughing matter, he crossed his heart. "She got some kind of horrible intestinal illness, and I think it turned into peritonitis or septic shock or something and killed her before they even knew how sick she was."

"Holy shit. That series _is_ cursed."

It wasn't funny, of course. It was a terrible topic of conversation. But Chuck's reaction was perfect, so Raleigh couldn't help but chuckle.

"It certainly had its share of tragedies. It was all a good decade before I was even born, so they're probably _all_ gone, now." He wrinkled his nose. "Well... I mean, God only knows, what with the kaiju and all, but...."

They were quiet a bit while the kid blew on his tea. Soon enough, Raleigh's mug boiled, so he turned off the hotplate and finished the tea-making ritual. He was trying to remember when the actress who played the psychic, Tangina, died -- he was pretty sure it was well after the series but before the kaiju -- and he didn't realize how focused he was on the subject until Chuck elbowed him.

"Oi, you done teabagging your tea yet? I wanna watch the--"

But the laugh had already escaped, huge and right from the belly, before he could even begin to tone it down. Worse, the wide-eyed, honestly shocked look on Chuck's face while Raleigh guffawed only made the laugh bigger. Jesus, had he been... he supposed he _had_ been just kind of dipping his teabag, not really stirring or really even thinking about it... but oh... oh, the _look_ on Chuck's _face...._

"Oi, what the fuck, Ray?"

Helpless, he sank to his knees and leaned his forehead against the cool front of the cabinet below the counter, still almost whooping with laughter. It had just been _so long_ since he'd heard the term. He had to get himself together... but... Jesus, did Chuck even _know??_

"Seriously, asshole, what the fuck did I say?"

Thank God, but the kid didn't actually sound angry. Irritated, yes, but... almost... wanting to be amused, too. Good, because God help him, but Raleigh could not stop laughing. His eyes were watering from the force of it.

Teabagging. His. Tea.

Another gale broke loose, and he sank even further down, turning sloppily to sit on the floor and wrap an arm over his stomach, which was starting to hurt. He hadn't laughed this hard in a dog's years, and he felt almost as wrung out as...

...as a teabag.

This wave wasn't quite as swamping, mostly because he'd just about worn himself out laughing so hard and was gasping a little too much for real volume. And still, when he risked a bleary, damp-eyed glance up to see how Chuck was taking the whole thing, the kid just looked an adorable mix of irritated and... fond?... at the big idiot flopping around on the floor, slowly winding down to the occasional breathless chuckle.

"So what'd I say?"

Another chuckle, but he was apparently laughed out. Finally. "You didn't play a lot of video games as a kid, did you?"

A ginger eyebrow rose. "What, running sims at the academy doesn't count?"

He grinned up at the brat. "I'm thinking more cooperative games, MMORPGs, that kind of thing. Games where you play at the same time as other people, for or against."

The kid shrugged. "Never had much time for that sort of thing, mate."

This chuckle was, to his embarrassment, more of a giggle, and he let his head fall back against the cabinet. God, he was practically drunk off laughter. "That is a real shame. My God, you would kill the world."

Shaking his head, Chuck deigned to scoot down the cabinet and sit beside him, eyeing him strangely. "So what do video games have to do with whatever the hell I said?"

He laughed again, not nearly as hard, just thinking about how to explain it. "Jesus, kid, you are gonna be the death of me. I take it the other guys at the academy never... uh... got a little excessive in their victory celebrations after a winning sim?"

The kid shrugged. "This one weird bloke used to make his sim jaeger grab its crotch and do this weird sort of shriek."

His stomach hurt, but he still managed one more chuckle. "That would be a Michael Jackson impression. It's sort of what I'm talking about. See, it was a gamer thing to lord it over your opponent, and one thing little shits used to do was crouch over a fallen enemy and...." His lips twitched, and he had a hard time meeting the big jerk's intent gaze. "Uh... teabag them."

That lone ginger eyebrow rose again.

"Squat up and down. On the dead guy's head."

Sweet Jesus, the kid still wasn't getting it. Raleigh wasn't sure how much more he could explain without another bout of laughter he wasn't sure either his stomach or his lungs could afford.

"Jesus, Chuck, they'd dangle their balls on the guy's face, okay? Like dipping a teabag?"

Light dawned as Chuck put the whole thing together, turned bright red, and burst out laughing himself, damn near spilling his tea all over himself as he tried to put it on the counter overhead and behind him.

"Fuck, my stomach hurts." But Raleigh couldn't stop laughing again any more than he could catch his breath. "God, please, stop!"

But the kid was all-in, now, and honestly, it was good to see Chuck let go and laugh his ass off, even interspersed as it was with coughs. It didn't happen often. In fact, Raleigh wasn't sure if the poor guy had let loose like this since he was an actual kid, if even then. The dimples were in full force, the freckles almost purple on that red face.

"Fuck...." Finally, Chuck wound down, slumping over to lean against him, apparently as wrung out as Raleigh was. "Oi, fuck me, Ray, I think you fucking killed me." Cough, gasp. "I don't have the lung capacity for that shite yet."

Exhausted but feeling good, he returned the lean, even dropping his head down to lean against the brat's shoulder. "You're the one who said it."

"Oi, not like I knew!"

He snickered. "Teabagging my tea."

Chuck elbowed him. "Don't!"

"That image is never going away."

Grunting -- but amused -- the brat lifted his shoulder twice, rocking Raleigh's head. "Your own fault, ratbag."

"Whatever, brat."

They were quiet a moment, just leaning against each other and getting their shit together. Finally, Raleigh sighed and sat up, scruffing at his own hair for once.

"Movie?"

The kid eyed him, and Raleigh suddenly realized those eyes were that odd shade of grey that sometimes looked blue and sometimes looked green. Right now, they were a light, bright blue, but he was fairly sure they'd been green earlier while they were eating. It made sense, in a way. They were as changeable as Chuck himself.

"So long as you promise that curse you were talking about whilst teabagging your tea doesn't transfer to the audience."

Snickering, he elbowed the giant brat he'd saddled himself with. "I make no promises." He grinned crookedly. "But _I'm_ still around, aren't I?"

Chuck gave him an odd look, grinning but... serious, too. "Thank God for that, yeah?"

Raleigh blinked, but Chuck had already stood up and offered him a hand. Feeling strangely warmed by the comment -- probably a joke on proof that there wasn't a curse, but still... nice -- he let himself be hauled to his feet. The kid handed him his tea, grabbed his own, and headed for the bed.

Shaking his head, tired from laughing his ass off, and weirdly confused by the whole thing, Raleigh could only follow.

Besides, it was movie time.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, there are _Crimson Peak_ spoilers in here. I didn't separately mark the other chapters for the older movies, but this one's new, so you may not have watched it yet (but totally should). Just FYI!

They'd finished the _Poltergeist_ series and moved on to the next film on his haunted house playlist when Chuck's out-of-nowhere comment caught Raleigh completely off-guard. He hadn't seen this particular movie since it came out more than ten years before, after all, and he'd been a bit busy since.

But: "Jesus, Ray. That bloke looks just bloody like you."

And just like that, he remembered Yancy elbowing him and telling him he could be the guy's stunt double. Raleigh had been too visually stunned by the grandeur of the sets and costumes to pay attention to what the characters looked like at first, so he hadn't even noticed the resemblance. Now, he grinned with unexpected nostalgia.

"So I've been told."

"No, seriously, mate." Chuck's eyes were wide in the dark, reflecting the light from the display. "It's un-fucking-canny." Those wide eyes looked at him, looked back at the display, looked at him again. "Jesus. Were you an actor?"

He rolled his eyes. "Considering that guy was my current age more than a decade ago? No. That was not me as a teenager looking almost exactly like I do now."

Another intent look, then a glance at the now-paused display, then another frankly uncomfortable stare. Suddenly, the brat reached over and flattened Raleigh's hair down to his head, leaning back a bit to get the full effect.

"Jesus! I swear to God that is _you!"_

Swatting at the hands wrecking his hair -- not that he'd done more than scruff his fingers through it all day, but it was the principle of the thing -- he grunted. "It's physically impossible for that guy to be me. I was, like, sixteen when this movie came out. I saw it in the theater, okay?"

And still, the kid stared. "Frankly, mate? Even your brother didn't look as much like you as that wanker does."

"Can we watch the movie now, please?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just... did you pick this movie because the guy is practically your twin?"

He couldn't help a sheepish grin at the kid. "Honestly, I forgot all about that. I just really liked Guillermo del Toro's movies. They were always _gorgeous,_ and this one had so much atmosphere, ya know? Not scary but... heavy. Oppressive, even."

And it was one of the last movies to make it out before the kaiju war put a stop to just about anything frivolous on the Pacific Rim, which included Hollywood.

Shrugging, Chuck unpaused the movie, and they watched Dr. McMichael be quietly respectful that his obvious love for Miss Edith Cushing was not returned in any way but friendship. Every once in a while, the brat would glance over at him and raise his eyebrows, grinning faintly, and Raleigh shook his head every time. They didn't look _that_ much alike.

Then, the big jerk had the nerve to pat his shoulder in consolation when Edith ended up in Sir Thomas Sharpe's arms. Raleigh shrugged him off with a grunt.

Thankfully, the plot and the overhanging doom of Allerdale Hall -- the Sharpes' brooding, crumbling House of Usher -- finally caught the kid's full attention, and all the smart-assery stopped. With that brilliantly red clay seeping through the walls and the floor and staining everything with fresh bloodstain red on all the brooding blues and blacks, it was hard _not_ to be entranced. Raleigh had forgotten how thoroughly the heavy atmosphere of the place sucked him in and filled him with dread.

No, it wasn't scary. It wasn't a horror movie. But it was definitely a memorable and chilling one.

And then Chuck lost his happy thoughts entirely when the good Dr. McMichael took a knife to the armpit and stumbled out into the snow of Crimson Peak. It was hard to tell what snow was red because of the ore leaching up into it and what snow was red with blood. Which was, of course, the point.

Raleigh sighed and put an arm around the kid, letting him scoot down to lay his head on Raleigh's shoulder. It was just a movie, yes, but Chuck hadn't seen a lot of movies. And he still wasn't one hundred percent well. Who knew how real it felt to him? Especially with a Raleigh lookalike getting almost-murdered and bleeding out everywhere?

Maybe this one hadn't been such a good idea, after all.

When it was all over, the kid pled out of another film, claiming he was tired. So, they both took one last trip each to the bathroom, then piled up in bed, Chuck a little more clingy than usual. At one point, the poor guy actually ran his hand up to Raleigh's armpit, as if he thought the knife might still be there. Raleigh only grinned softly and didn't protest either the not-terribly-subtle physical exam or the clinging.

Then, Chuck asked in a very small voice if Raleigh would read him to sleep. If he felt like it. Please.

Feeling fond but not quite grinning, he stroked his fingers through the kid's hair. "I'm pretty far past where I left off last time. Do you want me to start back at the beginning?"

"No." The poor kid scooted closer still, if possible. "Just wherever you are. I just want--" Stopping suddenly, he cleared his throat. "Your voice is comfortable, yeah?"

_Oh, Chuck._

So he reached behind his head and felt around for the tablet. He might get a little dry in the throat because he hadn't set out anything to drink, but he somehow didn't think Chuck would take long to conk out.

"I went out to the kitchen to get a glass of cold water. As I was filling it, I heard the magnets on the fridge begin sliding around. I whirled, spilling some of the water on my bare feet and hardly noticing. I was as excited as a kid who thinks he may glimpse Santa Claus before he shoots back up the chimney."

Sighing, Chuck tightened his arm around Raleigh's ribs for a moment, then settled.

"I was barely in time to see nine plastic letters drawn into the circle from all points of the compass. CARLADEAN they spelled... but only for a second. Some presence, tremendous but unseen, shot past me. Not a hair on my head stirred, but there was still a strong sense of being buffeted, the way you're buffeted by the air of a passing express train if you're standing near the platform yellow-line when the train bolts through."

The heavy body slung over him felt heavier still as the kid relaxed toward sleep.

"I cried out in surprise and groped my glass of water back onto the counter, spilling it. I no longer felt in need of cold water, because the temperature in the kitchen of Sara Laughs had dropped off the table."

"Sara Laughs?"

"The name of his vacation cabin. Also the name of... well... it's a long story."

"Okay. Sorry."

He stroked his fingers through ginger hair again. "I blew out my breath and saw vapor, as you do on a cold day in January. One puff, maybe two, and it was gone -- but it had been there, all right, and for perhaps five seconds the film of sweat on my body turned to what felt like a slime of ice. CARLADEAN exploded outward in all directions -- it was like watching an atom being smashed in a cartoon. Magnetized letters, fruits, and vegetables flew off the front of the refrigerator and scattered across the kitchen. For a moment the fury which fuelled that scattering was something I could almost taste, like gunpowder."

Heavier still, and Chuck's breathing slowed, slowed, evened out.

"And something gave way before it, going with a sighing, rueful whisper I had heard before: _'Oh Mike. Oh Mike.'_ It was the voice I'd caught on the MemoScriber tape, and although I hadn't been sure then, I was now -- it was Jo's voice."

The kid made a quiet, questioning noise, but Raleigh ignored it, reading on and still stroking his fingers soothingly.

"CARLADEAN: Jo had wanted me to know. Something else hadn't. Something else had shot past me like the Wabash Cannonball, trying to scatter the letters before I could read them."

He was pretty sure Chuck was out cold, but he went on reading until the end of the chapter anyway, just in case. There wasn't much left, anyway.

"Jo was here; a boy who wept in the night was here, too. And what else? What else was sharing my house with me?"

That big, solid body was dead weight against him, so he tapped off the tablet and put it away on the desk behind him. Then, he let himself wonder if he should have offered to stay in his own room tonight, now that Chuck was getting his strength back. The brat was a grown-up and didn't need constant supervision now that he felt so much better. But it hadn't even occurred to him, and it didn't seem to have occurred to Chuck, either.

Then again, after a day's worth of haunted house movies, the kid might not _want_ to sleep alone. Especially not after that last one. Chuck clearly hadn't wanted him to leave just yet, and he _had_ promised to stay until the kid was fully back on his feet.

Mentally shrugging, he told himself he'd stick around until his welcome had worn out, then go about his business. He'd missed a weekly therapy appointment and at least one flying lesson, but he figured everyone involved understood. Admittedly, he hadn't actually informed either his therapist or his flight instructors that he'd be gone, but he suspected Herc or Mako might have, since no one had contacted him to call him out on it.

He'd get back on schedule when he was no longer needed here. Might check if Chuck still wanted haunted house movies, though. _Crimson Peak_ had left a bit of a pall over them both, so maybe it was time for a comedy or at least a different genre of horror. Definitely nothing else with that particular actor, just in case.

And then it hit him. The Great Teabagging Incident struck him all over again, but instead of laughing his ass off -- and waking Chuck and having to explain himself -- he got an idea. A _great_ idea. Maybe the best idea ever.

He needed to talk to Hannibal Chau.

But... how?

Frowning, he ran a hand through the sleeping kid's hair and wondered if Chuck would get that pinched "I'm okay, everything's okay" look on his face if Raleigh left again for a few hours to ferry over to the mainland. Or maybe he could call and just make the order over the phone. After Pitfall, Chau probably wouldn't argue with delivering such an item right to the shatterdome's front door if asked. While in every other way a criminal and a hustler, the giant weirdo had more than kept his word about giving the PPDC whatever it needed in return for unlimited access to kaiju remains.

And Raleigh needed something. Well, Chuck needed something, but Raleigh wanted to be the one to get it for him.

No sense worrying about it tonight, though. He couldn't do anything until tomorrow, anyway, so he might as well try to get a little sleep. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

So, scooting down a little to bury his nose in the sandalwood-scented mess of Chuck's hair, he let himself fall into a doze. A little while later, he was deeply, comfortably asleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Raleigh awoke on his side, curled up toward the wall, a giant octopus clinging to his back. Admittedly, Chuck only had two arms and two legs, but with all of them either wrapped around him or entwined with his own, it was easy to feel like there were more.

For a moment, his still-groggy brain protested this indignity. He was the caregiver, here. He was supposed to be on his back, propped up in the pillows, with the big jerk sprawled over his chest and drooling on his shirt. Luckily, before the protest could be fully lodged, he realized he was ridiculously comfortable, cozily warm, had slept like a rock, and really didn't feel like moving.

Deciding that staying put really was the better part of valor -- any attempt to change the current status quo would likely result in waking a certain ginger beast -- he did one better and actually snuggled back against all that clinging warmth. Once perfectly situated, he let himself drift a bit. He didn't actually fall back to sleep -- at least, he didn't think he did -- but he had no idea how much later it was when Chuck finally stirred at his back.

Guessing it was okay to move now, Raleigh yawned and stretched, only to feel the octopus limbs tighten more firmly around him.

"Nnn. Still sleep'n."

The kid sounded shot full of novocaine. It probably didn't help that he'd buried his face against the nape of Raleigh's neck. Grinning and still sleepy himself, he resettled.

"Need to take a piss."

Grumble, grumble. "Hold it."

Demanding even in his sleep. Raleigh couldn't help but be amused.

"Don't you want breakfast?"

The octopus clung tighter still. "Nnn. Later. Sleepin'."

But now that he was more or less fully awake, he remembered the surprise he needed to set into motion and couldn't help wanting to be up and about. "Chuck, c'mon, let's--"

A big hand clamped over his mouth, the Great Australian Octopus at his back grunting irritably. _"Sssh."_

Bumfuzzled, Raleigh wondered exactly what he was supposed to do in this situation. He'd never been so aggressively cuddled before. Before this week, he'd have just decked the brat and been on about his way. Now, though, he wasn't really sure what to do.

And then, he knew. Yancy would be so proud of him.

Smirking as best he could with his lips smashed back against his teeth, he opened up as best as he could and licked the big jerk's fingers with as much spit as he could muster this early in the morning.

"Ugh, bloody gross!"

On the plus side, the big hand jerked away. On the minus side, said hand wiped itself on Raleigh's t-shirt, then wrapped around him again. All he'd managed to do was return to the prior status quo, but with his own slobber on his shirt this time.

Not an improvement.

"Dammit, Chuck, I seriously have to piss."

When the brat didn't even deign to sigh, Raleigh tried to squirm out of that octopus grip without actually waking the kid any further. Yes, Chuck had him wrapped up, but the grip wasn't punishing. Just... thorough. He could probably worm his way out if he just--

_...Oops._

He froze, feeling heat creep up his neck and into his cheeks. "Chuck, what did I tell you would happen if you popped a boner in bed?"

The big jerk grumbled but didn't let up an iota. "Not my fault, mate. You're the one squirming your ass up against my dick."

"Because you won't let go!"

"Because I'm bloody comfortable and trying to get some goddamn sleep!" The asshole had the nerve to mutter inarticulately while nuzzling against the nape of his neck again. "Just ignore it. It'll go away on its own."

More muttering, and Raleigh was pretty sure at least part of it was indignant speculation on how certain Alaskan ratbags could have cocks of their own without knowing how one worked. Yes, he knew how cocks worked. Jesus. Just... he wasn't exactly used to having one thrumming away against the crack of his ass. Even through two sets of boxer briefs and two sets of pajama pants, it felt... insistent.

Dammit, he'd told Chuck he hadn't done more than a little making out with a guy before. The sensation was disconcerting, to say the least.

But Chuck relaxed back into a doze against him, and that heated, insistent erection eventually lost its urgency. And while Raleigh still needed to piss like a racehorse, he didn't dare try to squirm out of the big jerk's grip again. The last thing he wanted was make this any more awkward.

Thus, he was surprised to wake up some time later as the brat rolled away to yawn and stretch noisily behind him. He'd thought he was awake for good earlier, especially after the whole morning wood incident, but he'd dropped right back off as soon as he settled down. Maybe he shouldn't always roll out of bed when he woke up in the wee hours of the morning, usually unsettled from a dream or an outright nightmare. He couldn't do much for the nights where he couldn't fall asleep in the first place, but maybe he shouldn't assume he was awake just because he was conscious.

Or maybe Chuck the Octopus was some weird sort of soporific. At this point, anything was possible.

So he yawned and stretched himself, then crawled over the big jerk -- the knee in the solar plexus wasn't exactly an accident, but it wasn't entirely on purpose, either -- and headed for the bathroom first. He'd earned it. God only knew how long he'd been holding it.

When he came back out, much more awake and with minty-fresh breath, he smirked to find Chuck sitting on the edge of the mattress, rubbing at his chest and glaring at him. Except, with the ginger hair sticking up every which way and the glare being more of a pout, the effect was somewhat lost.

"Don't even start." It was hard to sound stern when he wanted so badly to snicker. "If you'd just let me take a leak when I first needed to go, I wouldn't have had to hurdle you."

Unimpressed, the kid continued to glare-pout. "I was comfortable."

Scruffing his hand through his own hair, Raleigh gave in enough to grin. "My bladder was not."

Reduced to irritated grumbling again, the brat stood up and brushed past him, deliberately bumping shoulders -- not hard; more of an "I _could_ go around you but I won't because I'm stubborn" kind of nudge -- on his way to the bathroom. Raleigh rolled his eyes, then went to the refrigerator to debate between soup or maybe dragging Chuck to the cafeteria to see if they were still serving breakfast. He usually ate ridiculously early, thanks to rarely sleeping past dawn, so he had no idea how long they served in the morning.

Nothing in the fridge grabbed his fancy, so he decided to wait and see what Chuck wanted to do. No way was he broaching the subject of him maybe scarpering off for an hour or two without making sure the kid was awake and aware and well-fed. _Much_ less likely to be cranky or upset that way.

He'd just sat down and tapped on his tablet when the bathroom door opened. Chuck still stood at the sink, brushing his teeth, but he paused with the brush still in his mouth to shoot Raleigh a curious look.

"What day is it?"

He opened his mouth to answer, then realized he had no idea. Had he been here three days or four? Or maybe five? Frowning a bit, he touched the time readout in the bottom corner of his screen until the calendar page came up.

"Wednesday."

Weirdly enough, he still couldn't figure out how many days he'd been stowed away in Chuck's room. Had he run into Mako on Saturday or Sunday? He just couldn't remember. Hell, for all he knew, it could've been Friday.

Frowning as well, Chuck leaned over and spat a mouthful of foam into the sink. "Damn. I have a therapy appointment today. What time is it?"

He looked at the readout again and blinked, unsure if he was surprised or not. "0930. Huh."

The kid had started to brush again, but paused at the odd tone. "Huh what?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I just... not used to sleeping past 0500."

In fact, 0500 tended to be "sleeping in" territory for him. If he made it through even a few hours of sleep without a nightmare or, at the very least, a disturbing dream of some sort waking him up, he counted himself lucky. He wasn't sure he'd slept in until 9:30 AM since he was in single digits.

Chuck scrubbed at his teeth a bit, clearly mulling something over, then leaned down to spit again and rinse. "That's... good, though, right? How do you feel?"

His eyebrows rose a bit, and he actually considered the question. That first time he'd all but passed out with Chuck on top of him, he'd been giggly and sleep-drunk when he woke up, and he'd had a bit of a headache the rest of the day. Right now, though, he felt....

He blinked over at the kid, who was watching him closely. "Good, actually."

Relief crept over the familiar features, and the brat grinned, bringing out the dimples. He hadn't even realized the kid was that tense.

"Then what are you moaning about?" Shaking his head, the big jerk finished rinsing his brush, then swished and spat and dried off his big stupid face with Raleigh's towel. The jerk. "Jesus, never satisfied."

He rolled his eyes, though the banter was oddly soothing after such a weird morning. "Dare I ask if you want breakfast?"

"Oi, fuck yeah." The brat strolled out of the bathroom, trying to finger-comb his hair into some sort of order. "Ham and eggs sounds about right, and my appointment's not until 1030. I'll just head off straight from there."

Hmming a bit, Raleigh decided to broach the trial separation after all. "How long do your sessions usually go?"

The kid had been idly pawing through one of the drawers in his closet, but at that, he paused and looked over his shoulder. "Depends on what we talk about, yeah? How long do yours go?"

Not what he'd intended to get into. "Honestly, I think I need a different therapist. I'm doing good to get in a half hour before the poor guy looks more traumatized than I am."

Snorting, Chuck returned to his rummaging until he pulled out a clean pair of pants and a fresh t-shirt. "You should try mine. She's good. Hard as nails and won't let me get away with much. And if we go a bit over, it's usually because I'm being stubborn and she's waiting me out." He froze, then shot Raleigh a wide-eyed glance. "Forget I said that. It doesn't work. At all."

Raleigh raised one eyebrow and waited.

The brat slumped. "Goddammit."

"That didn't take long."

"Shut up." The poor guy stripped off his pajama pants and hauled on the brownish-grey trousers Raleigh was more used to seeing. "It takes longer with her. Just... have a hard time holding out on you when you literally cleaned up my shit, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes, completely derailed and at a loss for how it had happened. "Chuck, seriously, it was _not_ that big a deal."

Mutter, mutter. "Says you." And more muttering.

But the brat was dressed in his more usual clothes now, and, for Raleigh, it seemed like... something had changed. The rest of the world was intruding. No, not intruding. Just... reasserting itself. They had to change out of their pajamas sometime, he supposed.

So, he stood up while Chuck stomped into his boots and dragged his own boots out from under the desk. "Mind if we stop by my bunk for a change of clothes before we go? I feel a little underdressed."

The jerk snorted.

Keeping his grin as close to the same as possible, he eyed the kid for the next part. "Besides, I might run an errand while you're in session. Shouldn't take more than an hour. Would that be okay?"

Myriad expressions crossed that pale, freckled face.

"Chuck?"

The kid shook his head, forcing an unconvincing half-smile. "Sorry, mate. Just occurred to me that you can't really sit in with me. I mean, I suppose you could, but I doubt it'd do either of us any good, yeah?"

His eyebrows rose. "Actually, that never occurred to me. If you weren't okay with me running off for a while, I figured I'd just wait outside your shrink's office and read."

"No, no." But Chuck looked flustered. It wasn't quite the "I'm okay, everything's okay" look Raleigh had dreaded, but it was close. "No, mate. You go do your thing. I've had you all to myself long enough, yeah?"

As a snark, it fell short. The kid's expression was too careful for humor. Raleigh, feeling as weirdly protective as he'd been most of the week, stepped closer and lowered his tone.

"I'll have my tablet with me the whole time, okay? If you need anything...?"

Chuck nodded, still looking too serious and careful, so Raleigh scruffed his hand through the ginger mess of hair, then finger-combed it back into some semblance of order.

"Ready?"

Another nod, and the kid turned to leave the room. And Raleigh watched, suddenly wondering if his little surprise was worth that careful, pinched look on his confused duckling's face.


	22. Chapter 22

Okay, so it wasn't a perfect trip, but as he lifted the chopper off the mainland helipad and headed back toward the shatterdome -- his instructor relaxing and minding nothing but the view beside him, which was oddly confidence-building -- Raleigh had to admit that it was good to get out for an hour or so. It was a beautiful day with clean, fresh air, and he couldn't help but admire the bold colors of the traditional junks headed back and forth between the mainland and the outer islands. He could see so many of them from up here. It was almost like striding around in Gipsy, but smoother and so much less effort. Noisier, though.

For a moment, he wished Chuck was here to watch the sunlight glinting flecks of silver and gold off the expanse of water, to see those small, colorful boats sailing out into the Pacific without fear of a kaiju attack. To remind the kid that those tourist attractions were back out again after nearly a decade because they, as a team, had closed the Breach.

Then, he wondered if Chuck couldn't come along next time. He should ask his instructor when they landed, since Raleigh wasn't fully licensed yet. He'd ask now, but they were already almost home, the shatterdome growing in the distance. No sense distracting the guy -- with the helmet and aviator shades, he honestly couldn't tell which instructor it was, and he'd been too distracted when they took off to check before they geared up -- from the perfect view of such a lovely day.

Bringing them down in a smooth, textbook touchdown right on one of the large, white Hs painted on the helipad, he looked over to thumbs-up his fellow pilot and spied Chuck leaning against the side of the shatterdome, arms crossed, dimples big enough to make out all the way across the helipad. Surprised, Raleigh couldn't help but smile like a kid on Christmas morning and wave like a complete dork.

Unfortunately, his excitement didn't help him ignore the silent heckling from his instructor, who made a big show of leaning backward out of the way, so as not to impede such a joyous reunion.

_Dammit._

Blushing, he gave up waving to subtly flip off the jerk who'd actually notched his jumpseat back a few slots, just to be really obvious about it. As the rotors coasted to a stop, Raleigh pulled off his helmet and glasses and fixed on his least impressed look, ignoring how red his face must be.

"Don't gimme that." Ah, it was Barnes today. He should have known. Jenkins' sense of humor wasn't so obnoxious. "I've seen couples reunited after a nine-month deployment that didn't look so happy to see each other."

He rolled his eyes, unable to explain the overly warm welcome without sounding like an idiot. "We're not a couple. He's never seen me fly before, okay? And even you have to admit, that was a damn good landing."

The jerk grinned and took off his own headgear, though he left the shades on. He was that kind of guy. "I'll give you that one." Bushy eyebrows waggled over the tops of the sunglasses. "Now go kiss your boyfriend before you both get old."

"It's not like -- he's been _sick._ I was _worried."_

"Uh-huh. What's _his_ excuse, then?"

There was no non-embarrassing way to say that Chuck had imprinted on him while fever-stricken half out of his mind and still wasn't one hundred percent, so Raleigh just rolled his eyes and made sure everything was shut down properly before crawling into the cabin to gather up his haul. He hadn't gotten _exactly_ what he wanted, but he'd make do with what was available. For now.

Unfortunately, Barnes the Jerk Flight Instructor snatched one of the bags as an excuse to stick with him as he walked over to where Chuck still lounged against the shatterdome, merely grinning now instead of exuding megawatts. Slowing his step a bit, Raleigh whispered out of the side of his mouth like a con in an old black and white movie.

"Don't get him riled up, okay? You can make fun of me all you want, but Mr. Hansen is still getting over being sick. _Do not_ piss him off. Got it?"

Normally, he would never talk to his instructor like that. Nominally, as a jaeger pilot, he had seniority over almost everyone in the shatterdome, but he had never once been anything but respectful of and friendly with his instructors.

But this was different.

Unfortunately, Barnes just smirked, and it was too late to remind the guy that Chuck had helped save the world, so he should damn well be nice to him. Hopefully, the deliberate "Mr. Hansen" would do the trick.

Still grinning, the kid shoved away from the wall without uncrossing his arms. "You weren't kidding, mate. You really are taking flight lessons. And it looks like you know what you're doing."

He'd beaten most of his blush down, but it came right back at the implicit compliment in the statement. "Well, I mean--"

"Are you kidding?" Barnes elbowed him out of nowhere. "He doesn't need lessons. Your boy here learned everything he needed to know the first day. All he's doing now is putting in the flight hours until they present his license to him on a silver platter."

_Dammit, Barnes._

But Chuck either didn't notice the "your boy" thing or didn't register it. "Not surprised, yeah? Always was a natural at piloting a jaeger. Why would this be any different?"

He really, really wanted to change the subject. Why did his instructor have to follow him over, anyway? "Uh, that was Yancy, actually. I picked everything up from him in the Drift."

His instructor and his new friend gave each other a Look. They hadn't even been properly introduced, and they already had a Look regarding him.

"Ray, mate, let us compliment you, yeah?"

"Seriously, kid. You got skills." Barnes held up his bag and smirked. "And takeout."

Chuck perked up. "Oi, what kind?"

"I dunno, but it smells awesome." And the jerk actually opened the bag to peer at the tidy pile of boxes inside.

Grumbling and flustered and wondering how he kept losing control of situations, he snatched the bag out of his instructor's loose grip. "We're in Hong Kong. It's Chinese food." When the guy opened his mouth to say God only knows what, Raleigh narrowed his eyes. "For two."

Finally, Barnes took his cue, backing away with his hands up and that smirk on his face. "Touchy, touchy." The jerk even had the nerve to tip them a little two-fingered salute to his temple. "You boys don't have too much fun now."

Rolling his eyes, Raleigh wished mightily that Jenkins had been his instructor today. He'd pretty much just confirmed the jerk's innuendo about them being a couple. Jesus. He'd never live it down.

"Not too fond of your instructor, eh?"

He blinked, shaking off the irritation. "Barnes?" Sheepish, he shifted the bags around to distribute them better. "He's okay, usually. Just... one of those guys who sees a crack and has to chisel away at it, ya know?"

To his surprise, Chuck just grinned again. "See, that's why you need to take compliments better, mate. Don't give him any cracks to chip at."

Weirdly relieved, Raleigh had no problem letting the kid think that was the problem. Saved him a load of explaining he didn't want to do. "Yeah, I'll just work on that, then."

The kid rolled his eyes and held his hand out for a bag. Raleigh looked him over, noting that under the grin, the guy looked... distracted? Not pale or weary yet, but definitely not himself. If he had to guess, Raleigh would say Chuck looked like a man who'd been thinking too much. Which, considering he'd just been to therapy, probably wasn't that wild an assumption.

But since the poor guy didn't look overly tired, he obligingly handed over the two takeout bags, keeping the other, bigger package for himself. "I didn't get anything too spicy or heavy, but I figured... since I was out...."

"I trust you, mate." Chuck sniffed at the bag he held up to his face. "When you said you had an errand, I never thought you meant running for takeout. In a chopper."

"Ha ha." They headed into the 'dome, and Raleigh couldn't help but feel his anticipation for the kid's reaction to his surprise bubble up again. "I missed a lesson, so I asked if I could make it up while picking up something on the mainland. Two birds, one stone."

Although he had to admit -- to himself, of course; never out loud -- that he'd definitely considered the fact that the helicopter would be much faster than taking the ferry over, and he'd hoped to be back before Chuck's therapy session was over. It hadn't quite worked out that way, but he still thought he'd made it there and back much faster airborne than he would have over the water.

"Picking up what, then? What's with all the mystery?"

He grinned, trying to look innocent. "What mystery?"

Chuck shot him an unimpressed look. "I've told you; I don't buy the innocent look anymore, mate."

Rolling his eyes, he kept the bag in question out of reach on the opposite side from the brat. "We're, like, ten feet away from your bunk. You'll find out then."

Some strange expression crossed Chuck's face, and the kid slowed a bit. "Oi, meant to ask you...."

Raleigh slowed, as well. Was the kid always this... different after therapy? Or had this session been especially tough? If so, why?

"Can we maybe go to your bunk instead?" A quick glance. "Not gonna lie, mate; I'm downright sick of mine."

Understandable. But Raleigh suspected that wasn't the reason at all. That said, he had no intention of refusing the kid's request. Chuck might be a bit demanding when it came to stroking his hair or cuddling, but he rarely actually _asked_ for things.

Shit, had he cleaned up before he bumped into Mako in the hall and jumped into the whole "take care of Chuck" episode? He really, really hoped he hadn't left underwear on the floor after hurriedly changing earlier.

"I mean, it's okay if you don't--"

_Oops._

"Sorry, no, it's fine." He'd forgotten an answer was required of him. Forcing a grin, he elbowed the kid and gestured down the hall. "I was trying to remember if I made my bed or left towels all over the bathroom floor or something."

The kid started off, clearly relieved. "Believe me, whether or not you're messy is the _last_ thing on my mind."

Should he? Maybe the poor guy wanted to talk about it and just didn't know how. Bracing himself, he stuck a toe into the pool.

"Do you... maybe wanna talk about the first thing?"

Chuck took three more steps, each one slower than the last, then stopped and let his head hang for a moment. "When did you get so observant, then?"

He wanted to fidget, but he didn't quite dare. "Probably when I found you unconscious on the floor." In for a penny, in for a pound. "Suddenly seemed important to keep a sharper eye out."

The kid shot him a look that couldn't seem to decide if it was pissed off or not. "See, I can't even argue with that."

Raleigh could only shrug. "You don't have to talk about it, Chuck. But if you need to, you can. Okay?"

That familiar face cycled through several emotions, then settled back into the distracted not-quite-frown from before. "Can we eat first? And maybe watch a movie?"

"Of course." He elbowed the kid and grinned a little. "Besides, the food's getting cold."

To Chuck's credit, he really did try to grin back. Almost made it, even. "That'd be a real shame, considering you used a chopper to get it here hot and fresh."

So, having given each other a reprieve, they headed for Raleigh's bunk. It seemed his surprise would have to wait.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this chapter contains serious, frank discussion of the Vietnam War and both the physical and psychological horrors the soldiers there faced. It's mostly summary, but heads-up, just in case.

"Seriously. It's just called _House?"_

Raleigh hid a smirk and continued fiddling with the display, trying to get it just right in the center of the wall. For some reason, his desk unit was more fiddly than Chuck's, the equipment less up-to-date. Probably because he'd been something of a last-minute addition to the crew and his room had been set up in a hurry. And he hadn't bothered to correct any oversights all this time because... honestly, he didn't know why. Not like he hadn't had time.

"You said you wanted another haunted house movie, but not another depressing one." There. Now, if he could just get the damn thing to play.... "This one is classic horror cheese. You'll love it."

"We'll see." A rustling of the bags, and the kid sniffed appreciatively. "Oi, steamed dumplings?"

Finally assured that everything was as adjusted as it could be, Raleigh kicked off his boots and joined the kid on the bed, the covers in a wad at the foot so they didn't get any sauce or crumbs on them. "And potstickers. There's some eggdrop soup in there, too, so you should probably start with that."

And braised chicken on skewers and spare ribs and spring rolls and egg foo young and several other dim sum items he'd chosen off the cart. He'd avoided seafood and anything spicy or greasy and had asked for as many sauces on the side as possible. That way, Chuck should be able to only use as much as his recovering stomach could handle.

And steamed rice, of course. Couldn't go wrong with rice.

As they picked and chose from the bounty -- now that they were surrounded by boxes, Raleigh could admit he might have gone a bit overboard -- he realized the movie they were about to watch might need a bit of background. It was old, after all, and the central concept was something that an Australian kid who'd grown up in the PPDC and, thus, outside of standardized schooling might not automatically know.

So he cracked open a bottle of water -- unfortunately, the tea and juice and even the Pedialyte were all in Chuck's room -- and gestured toward the home screen with it. "Before I start it, how much do you know about the Vietnam War?"

Chuck blinked, pausing mid-chew. "I can point out Vietnam on a map...?"

He nodded and poked at a box of beef lo mein. "That sounds about right. You were a little young for that kind of history when you were in school."

"And the academy wasn't much for generalized education."

Thankfully, the kid didn't sound bitter. Just stating the fact.

"Exactly." Potstickers were the food of the gods. He was glad he'd ordered so damn many of them. "So the main character here is dealing with his shit from the Vietnam War, so to understand why he's so traumatized by it, you kinda need to know why that particular war fucked so many soldiers up."

Chuck frowned. "Was that the one with all the protests and calling the soldiers babykillers and such?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, actually. How...?"

"Dad was a soldier a long time before the kaiju, mate. He knows his war history. He and Pentecost used to trade trivia."

"Right." Nodding, he went back to his lo mein. "See, that was a war no one thought we should be involved in. The United States, I mean." He shot the kid a wry grin. "Sorry."

There was the famous smirk, and it looked like whatever had so distracted the kid earlier was at least temporarily forgotten. Perfect.

"Don't worry, Ray. We all know the States think they're the whole world."

"I brought you takeout. _With a helicopter."_

"Yeah, yeah. Vietnam."

"Right." But he stole one of Chuck's spring rolls in retaliation. "Honestly, I know way more about World War II than Vietnam, but I think they're a lot more tied together than people think. See, everyone thought World War I was the Great War, the only time such massive combined armies would clash. The loss of life was unthinkable, and no one wanted it to happen again."

The kid sighed, fiddling with a chicken skewer. "And yet...."

Scooting closer -- as much for himself as for Chuck -- Raleigh sighed, too. "Yeah. World War II was just as devastating, but at least the Allies could tell themselves they were fighting _evil._ The Nazis were bad guys, a clear and present danger that any rational human being would want to fight. It didn't matter that nothing is that black and white. It mattered that everyone was united against a dangerous foe and its supporters. So it was honorable to fight in that war, to have stood up against evil. Yeah, the vets from it were messed up, but they'd earned their scars and their horrors and their nightmares and could hold their heads high."

Tooling his chopsticks through his noodles, he shrugged. "A lot of people think it was all political maneuvering, but somehow, communism became the next evil to fight. The Cold War started, partially due to the arms race and the sudden emergence of nuclear weapons after World War II, and partially due to plain old propaganda. See, it wasn't long before the two countries with the most nukes were the United States and Communist Russia." He rolled his eyes a little. "The USSR didn't call themselves that, of course, but that was the propaganda. See, the various governments all knew that the only way to rile the people up against another country anymore was to paint them as pure evil, like the Nazis. So communism became the new Third Reich."

He shot a glance at Chuck and found the kid staring at him, fascinated. There was interest in that look, of course, like when he'd been reading certain parts of _The Princess Bride,_ but also... surprise? As if Chuck was again impressed by the random stuff Raleigh knew, as he had been about all the movie trivia.

He wanted to be proud of himself for earning that look, but he'd picked up most of this stuff from his standard education. Not that he'd been a star student -- far from it -- but he'd always liked history, and especially World War II history. He'd just... picked it up.

What would Chuck have randomly picked up from a standardized education? Raleigh admitted freely that the kid was smarter than him. Mako had told him several times that Chuck had the test scores to have become a J-tech engineer if he'd wanted to. Chuck could, in fact, be designing the new jaegers if he hadn't been hellbent on becoming a pilot.

"Raleigh?"

He blinked, shaking off the stray thoughts and forcing a grin. "Sorry. Got sidetracked there for a second."

But Chuck looked concerned. "Is it too much to talk about, mate? You look...."

Straightening, he grinned a little more naturally. "No, it's fine. I wasn't even thinking about the war, honestly. Just... anyway, where was I?"

"Communism became the new Third Reich."

He smiled. Chuck would have been an amazing student. Oh, what could have been.

"Right. So leave that to sit through a few military conflicts and two decades and McCarthyism, and then there's North Vietnam, which is supported by Communist Russia and Communist China -- the Red Threat, as it was shouted in all the newspapers. They want to reintegrate South Vietnam, which is supported by the US and other anti-communist allies, and South Vietnam doesn't want to go."

Nodding slowly, the kid swallowed a bite of spring roll and gestured with the rest. "So the protestors thought the US should stay out of a domestic conflict on foreign soil, whilst the war propaganda said you had to fight the Red Threat, even if North Vietnam wasn't actually a threat to the US?"

He smiled, ridiculously proud. "Exactly. And that's part of why the soldiers ended up so fucked up. Most of them didn't want to go in the first place and didn't believe in the cause, but they couldn't fight the draft. It was illegal to dodge the call, so unless you had the grades or the money to go to college, you were shipped overseas. Worse, once they got there, their enemies looked just like their allies, so they very quickly became paranoid that the people they were supposed to be fighting _for_ might turn out to be Charlie instead."

Chuck's eyes narrowed.

He rolled his eyes. "Not... the North Vietnamese were called the Viet Cong, which got shortened to VC, which in military-speak is Victor Charlie."

Grunting, the kid went back to his spring rolls.

"Anyway, as if not wanting to be there in the first place and all that paranoia wasn't bad enough, the environment itself was hazardous." Warming to his topic, he gestured with his chopsticks. "See, the Viet Cong used guerilla warfare tactics. They knew the terrain and used the jungles and swamps against the foreign troops. Basically, they fought dirty."

This had always been Yancy's favorite awful part of Vietnam war stories, so Raleigh knew it well. Even he had to admit to a certain sick fascination with exactly how shitty the soldiers over there had it every single day.

"They'd plant punji sticks -- little slivers of bamboo designed to spear up through a boot -- for the troops to step on, so every step could be dangerous. Even deadly, if they coated them with toxins or even shit, so the wounds would fester. And there were minefields, of course, which were their own brand of mindfuck. But even if they avoided those kinds of man-made hazards, if they didn't take care to keep their feet dry in all the rain and the swampy areas, their feet would literally start to rot inside their boots from the damp."

"Jesus."

The poor guy paled and swallowed hard, and Raleigh figured he'd better dial it back before he ruined the kid's appetite. Not everyone found the depths of human atrocity as horribly interesting as he and Yancy had.

"Anyway, you get the idea. Just... it was a horrible situation all around, and the guys sent over there to fight came back seriously fucked up, and it didn't help that it wasn't just protestors spitting on them and calling them babykillers when they got back. It was regular citizens, people they'd been told they were protecting by fighting Communism."

Fiddling with his chopsticks, the kid tried to smirk. "Suddenly, it doesn't seem so bad to get mobbed by jaeger flies who wanna suck my dick, yeah?"

He snorted, surprised out of the heavy mood he'd accidentally inflicted on them. "Everyone has their cross to bear."

The kid laughed, also surprised, and the mood lifted entirely. _"Such_ a ratbag."

"Anyway, this movie was made about ten years after the Vietnam War officially ended, and the guy in it is trying to deal with that while all this other supernatural stuff happens. Just... you'll have a better idea of how it's all connected now, okay?"

Still amused, the brat tried to glare at him. "I thought you said this one wasn't as depressing as _Crimson Peak."_

"It isn't. I swear." Fighting down a grin and trying to look serious, he crossed his heart.

Relenting, the kid dug into Raleigh's box of potstickers, even though he obviously had one of his own. "It _is_ a bit much that you know all this shite, mate. I mean, I know you read and all, but...?"

He shrugged, not protesting the piracy. "I was never top of the class, but I paid attention to what interested me." He grinned wryly. "It wasn't all watching my mom die and bidding my dad good riddance and getting me and Yancy into fights."

Chuck eyed him. "Ouch."

"Now can we watch this thing, or what?"

"Yeah, yeah. Pass the spare ribs."

He started to hit play, then paused again. "One more thing."

"Oi, fuck, what?"

Smirking, he elbowed the big jerk again. "This is one of those movies where the music makes it. There are all sorts of little sounds to pay attention to, but without the musical cues, it'd just be ridiculous. They _will_ make you jump."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "I'll try to keep from shrieking like a little girl, yeah?"

The smirk deepened, and he started the movie. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The opening titles started, the layout so dated it was pitiful, the music dramatic and moody right from the start. Raleigh settled back and divided his attention between the flashes of the house and Chuck's unimpressed expression.

"Lemme guess." Chuck's tone was as dry as the spare ribs. "That's the house from the title."

"Brilliant deduction, Mr. Holmes."

"Who?"

"Ugh, just watch."

On the screen, a random kid pulled up on his scooter to deliver the old lady's groceries. The door opened for him as he knocked on it, though no one was in the foyer to greet him.

"Leave the bag, kid. Walk away."

Raleigh grinned, hoping the commentary would continue. The grocery boy went inside to leave the groceries, then heard a noise, like something falling over upstairs. He shot Chuck a look.

Sure enough: "He's gonna investigate, isn't he?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Fuck no."

They both snickered at the grocery boy's "Sick!" when he spotted the old lady's painting on the wall, but Raleigh could feel that big body tensing next to him as the thrumming cello music slowly built. Another noise, and the grocery boy pushed through a door, calling the old lady's name.

The hanging corpse swung into view with a musical stinger, and Chuck jumped hard enough to spill his packet of egg rolls in his lap. "Jesus Christ!"

Raleigh laughed, ignoring the sucker punch to his upper arm. "Not gonna scream like a little girl, huh?"

"I wasn't expecting a fucking corpse!"

This... would be awesome.


	24. Chapter 24

"Oi, what the hell is he wearing?"

Raleigh snickered. "The height of early '80s fashion -- the deep V-neck sweater."

"Jesus, what's the bloody point? I mean, you wear a jumper to be warm, yeah? Then you bare pretty much your whole chest to the elements?"

Chuckling and prodding at the last of his lo mein, he gestured at the screen. "The point was to show that you had the pecs to pull it off. Dude lives in California. He's not worried about being cold."

Grumbling -- and amused, Raleigh would bet -- the kid shoved the last two chicken skewers at him and crossed his arms. Apparently, Chuck was already full.

"Just sayin', mate -- I'm glad you don't have a stupid ass jumper like that."

He rolled his eyes. "I only have, like, three. And they were all strictly functional. I needed the layers, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's fucking cold in Alaska. Still sayin'."

They were quiet -- Raleigh grazing on this and that while Chuck opened another bottle of water -- while Roger Cobb, horror novelist extraordinaire, met his neighbor Harold and got fanboyed. He was tempted to make a joke about Harold being a jaeger fly, but the moment passed because soon enough, poor Mr. Cobb was writing about his time in the war.

"Not gonna lie, mate. I'd have left the second I saw my dead aunt hang herself after warning me to fucking leave."

Shrugging, he gnoshed on a little egg foo young. "He thinks his son is still there somehow. And at least he's writing. Up to now, he hadn't even managed a sentence on his book."

"Yeah. Still."

The little kid in the movie giggled, a reflection in the window, and the hero turned him off with the remote, like he had the TV. Chuck grunted.

Little Jimmy giggled again, this time echoey and faint from further in the house. Even without surround sound, like Raleigh had as a youth, the sound was effective.

"Oh, fuck no. How the fuck is a kid laughing so goddamn creepy?"

Raleigh grinned. "I dunno, but kids giggling is definitely a scary movie trope. Gives you the shivers, man."

"Too fucking right."

The music deepened, a cello stringing the low tension while a higher xylophone tune again evoked kids and their toys as Roger crossed his aunt's old room toward the closet. Raleigh had forgotten exactly how much the musical score, not just the musical stingers, influenced this one. The movie had scared the hell out of him as a kid, though as a teen, he'd just found it funny. Now that it had been over a decade since he saw it last, it again had a certain creepy power under all the cheese, thanks in large part to the brooding, dramatic score.

"Fuck, mate, don't open the door."

Roger didn't. Yet.

But he went back, because of course he did. The hero of the movie has to prove his manhood, even to himself. From the second the guy turned on the light and the high-pitched strings kicked in, Chuck began to tense at Raleigh's side.

The closer he got to the door, the more instruments kicked in, lower strings and woodwinds and even horns blaring in, building to the musical sting when he jerked open the door and--

Nothing.

"Fuck me. Got me all worked up for fucking nothing."

Raleigh smirked but didn't say a word. The house's big grandfather clock downstairs began to chime midnight, and the hero turned back to the closet.

"Don't fucking do it."

There was no musical sting this time, which probably explained why Chuck shouted and jumped half into Raleigh's lap when the war demon came spilling out of the closet.

"Jesus Christ, what the bloody fuck is that fucking thing!"

It slashed its giant claws at the hero, slicing into his chest through the flimsy bathrobe as the poor guy tried to shove it back into the closet.

Another close-up of it, and Chuck actually moaned, huddling up against Raleigh's side. "Fuck me, Ray, it's got goddamn faces all over it."

The kid sounded honestly disturbed, so as Roger managed to get the closet door shut, Raleigh put his arms around that cringing body, grinning even as he stroked fingers through the ginger hair tickling his chin.

"It never explicitly says so in the movie, but that's the war demon. It's kind of all his memories of his troop and the horrors over there taking physical form to attack him."

"Jesus, Raleigh, you said it was a haunted house movie. I didn't expect... fucking thing looked like a giant, mutated spider with _faces,_ not a _ghost."_

He frowned a little. That... hadn't occurred to him, actually. There was a part later where all sorts of tentacles and monstrous hands come out of a mirror to grab the main character and try to drag him in. Was that too close to some of the things they'd seen for comfort?

"Is it too much?" He made sure not to sound teasing now as he paused the flick. "We don't have to watch the rest. I mean, it really did scare the hell out of me as a kid. I just... I mostly remembered the cheese of it when I picked it for now, ya know?"

Some of the tension eased out of that big frame, but the kid didn't pull away entirely. It was probably time to put up the rest of the food, though. Just in case he got pinned down by a certain Great Australian Octopus later.

"No, it's... it's fine, mate. Just... fuck, wasn't prepared for Lovecraftian horror in a cheesy haunted house movie, yeah?"

Trying to lighten the mood, Raleigh grinned down at him, seeing mostly ginger hair and forehead and the tip of a freckled nose. "Oh, so you don't know the Vietnam War, but you know H.P. Lovecraft?"

Now the kid twisted his head to glare up at him, unimpressed. "You think I spent half my life fighting interdimensional horrors without learning about the bloke who wrote most of the best stories about them before we knew they actually existed?"

His grin went rueful, and he gave that ginger hair a scruff. "Fair enough."

The unimpressed look sobered. "I wanna watch the rest, yeah?"

And now, he smirked. "As you wish."

"Fucking ratbag."

Grinning even as he climbed out from under the kid to box up the rest of the food and put it away, he hit play. Chuck wanted the rest?

Chuck got the rest.


	25. Chapter 25

After the fake scare where Harold interrupted Roger's attempt to get a picture of the war demon, Chuck seemed surprised by the scene with the two of them talking about the hero's tragic past.

"I just... did people really sit about back then, talking that easily about their shit with near-strangers? Blokes, especially?"

Chuck had reclined against him, so Raleigh huffed softly as he kept stroking his fingers through the kid's hair. "No. I mean, I guess some people did, but most movies from that decade made it out like men would rather bleed to death than talk about their feelings."

"I mean... we can talk about our shit, but we've had a lot of the _same_ shit, so it makes sense. And even that's just recent."

His mouth twitched. "You and your dad have almost exactly the same shit."

He left the _"and yet, you two never talk about it"_ part unsaid. Chuck wasn't stupid. He didn't need all the blanks filled in.

The movie progressed, but Chuck stayed quiet for a bit. Raleigh wasn't sure, but he thought maybe some of the distraction from earlier had come back, but he'd be damned if he could figure out why. Eventually, the kid shrugged.

"You haven't made me feel like a shit for any of it yet." Another shrug that conveniently snuggled the kid closer. "Feels safe, yeah?"

 _Dammit._ The warm fuzzies were back, and he held the big jerk a little more securely, acknowledging the statement without bringing undue attention to it. Although....

Not sure if he wanted Chuck to hear or not, he murmured his confession. "Feels safe to tell you stuff, too."

And _only_ Chuck. Maybe the kid was right. Maybe he did need a new therapist.

They were quiet for a moment while Roger and Big Ben crept around the Vietnam jungles of Roger's memory.

Then: "Good."

Raleigh smiled and leaned his chin down on Chuck's hair. It was a good thing they got all that out during a quiet part because the shit was just about to hit the fan.

Just as Roger jerked himself out of his increasingly dangerous war memories, a toy car zoomed across the floor on the screen. Chuck grunted, sitting up a bit but not pulling away. The poor hero picked up the toy and said his son's name, immediately trying to laugh away the notion until something caught his eye.

"What the...? What'd I miss?"

Raleigh paused the movie. "Did you not see it?"

"I saw that _he_ saw something. What was it?"

Grinning, he backed it up and played it again. "Watch closely."

It played again, and Chuck grunted and sat further forward. "Fuck, I didn't see anything. What am I missing?"

He rewound it again. "Keep your eye on the swordfish's head."

He played it again, and this time, he knew Chuck saw it. It was surprisingly subtle for a movie as in-your-face as this one had been, just a stuffed swordfish's mouth closing the tiniest bit. The kind of subtle motion meant to be caught out of the corner of the eye and dismissed under normal circumstances.

"Oi, fuck, that's creepy."

The hero stared at the fish up close, almost daring it to move, then moved away when nothing happened. The fish's eye rolled to follow him.

"Ugh, Jesus, it's _wet!"_

Snickering, Raleigh waited.

Roger turned around, perhaps hearing that gross moist sound of the eye moving in its socket, and the big, mounted swordfish started flopping, knocking stuff off the walls and lurching this way and that.

"That is downright unsettling." Two second later: "Ha! Like beating it with a club's gonna stop it."

Raleigh grinned. "Desperate times, man."

The poor, freaked-out hero ran out to the shed for a shotgun. As he tore through the drawers, looking for ammo, he heard a noise. A snip-snip-snip kind of noise. And some metallic banging.

"Seriously? One problem isn't enough?"

"Just wait."

In the wavering light of Roger's flashlight, a row of gardening tools jittered on their pegs, then flew right off them, an axe sinking itself into the wall behind him.

"You've gotta be shitting me."

"It gets better."

The poor guy escaped the possessed yard tools and finally got back to the study, where the swordfish was still flopping idiotically on its plaque, so he shot a giant hole in it.

"Jesus, it's making noises, mate."

Raleigh snickered. Roger covered the giant hole and the still-moving eye with a towel, then went upstairs to dig around in his medicine cabinet for some Valium, which was understandable. A series of loud bangs at the door behind him made him drop the pills he was about to take down the sink.

They also made Chuck jump against him. "Fuck, now what?"

The hero opened the door, and the gardening tools were there, poised threateningly midair.

"How is that even fucking possible?"

Raleigh snorted.

The shovel took a feint, another feint, then flew at the poor guy, who ducked and raised the shotgun up as a sort of shield. The shovel broke off over the gun's barrel, allowing him to duck underneath the rest and shut them in as he went back downstairs...

...where his ex-wife was waiting on the opposite side of the foyer table.

Chuck relaxed against him, clearly thinking this was a reprieve. Raleigh did his best not to telegraph the next part.

When she asked what he was doing with a gun, the poor hero quickly put the shotty and a shell he'd been trying to load down on the table between them, but the shell rolled across the table and off the other side. The beautiful and glamorous ex-Mrs. Cobb in her elegant lavender satin dress ducked down on the far side of the table to pick it up...

...and came back up on another musical stinger as a mouthful of giant sharp teeth, folds of slimy grey skin, and horribly bloated bulk straining out of a parody of the elegant dress.

"Holy shit, what the fucking fuck?" And Chuck was practically climbing him again. "Jesus, I did not see that coming!"

The hag cackled madly and snatched at the hero with red-painted daggernails. He fell back against the stairs, and she slung the table aside. He reflexively fired the shotgun, catching her right in the midsection. She screamed and stumbled backward, right through the doors and outside onto the porch.

The hero followed her out to make sure the thing was dead, and it... was his ex-wife. Slim and beautiful and tragic with blood all over her elegant dress. And dead. Roger collapsed to his knees, hands to his head.

"That's fucked up, mate. He just... tell me that's not really his wife, yeah? They can't make the poor fuck murder his own wife!"

Chuck had basically curled up in his lap with this last jumpscare, but Raleigh didn't push him away. Instead, he hmmed softly and stroked up and down the kid's back.

"Jesus, this movie is almost as bad as the other one."

"Keep watching. It gets better."

Grumbling, the kid settled down as the police arrived and Roger had to hide his poor, dead wife in a cabinet under the stairs. It was a nice reprieve with some comedy between Harold and the cops, and Chuck eventually relaxed against him.

Until the cops started to leave and Roger realized his gun was gone from where they'd left it. And the cabinet under the stairs had popped open again.

"Shit shit shit...."

The cabinet was empty, but a door suddenly closed upstairs.

"Oi, he's bloody well going, isn't he? Why does everyone always fucking investigate?"

The music kicked in, and Raleigh literally felt Chuck's tension ratchet up with it. When the hero crept into his aunt's room again and the hag stood up behind him with the shotgun in hand, Chuck grabbed onto Raleigh's thigh and squeezed hard. Apparently, the kid had gotten his strength back, because that grip almost hurt.

The music was just strings now, high and zinging back and forth like nerves they could hear, and the hero crept toward the closet door he'd just seen close on its own, a fire poker as his only weapon. As he touched the doorknob, the hag clocked him on the back of the neck with his own gun, and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

_"Where's your son, Roger?"_

"Oi, fuck, make her stop talking." The grip tightened. "I can't fucking stand that voice."

_"You'll never find him. Heheh, he's dead!"_

Admittedly, the voice was a high-pitched, grating parody of a woman's voice, seasoned with mad glee. Raleigh had to agree it was pretty damn disturbing.

The hag put the barrel of the gun right at the base of Roger's skull. _"Say your prayers."_

The bloated, disgustingly damp fingers pulled the trigger.

_Click._

"Fuck yeah!"

The hero spun and clocked her with the fire poker, then ran around her as she stumbled. He tripped out into the hall, and she chased after him, brandishing the empty gun as a club. Roger pulled himself across the hall and jerked open a door and--

"Fuck, yes! Finally!"

All the possessed yard tools threw themselves at him, but he dodged away and every single one of them sank into the hag's body. Then, the hedge clippers sailed by and--

_Snip._

_Clunk._

The head hit the floor. Then the rest of the twitching, tool-riddled body. The hero shouted, "Yeah!"

Chuck damn near jumped off the bed. _"Hell_ yeah!"

The music kicked in with, "Feelin' better, now that we're through," from the old song, and Chuck sank back against him with a relieved, almost breathless laugh.

"Oi, fuck, mate, that was perfect. Felt almost as good as Inigo's revenge, yeah?"

Snickering, Raleigh let the kid get comfortable as the hero tried to deal with the body by bagging it up and dragging it outside. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Yeah, yeah, you told me. And that bloke has a seriously nice ass."

"Chuck."

"Don't act like you didn't notice."

The bimbo neighbor in the pool interrupted the hero's burial detail, and Raleigh was just about to ask if Chuck needed another bottle of water -- mostly to change the subject because, yes, that was a nice ass, but he still wasn't comfortable talking about it -- when his monitor beeped. Frowning, he paused the movie and reached over to tap the appropriate button on the screen.

"Raleigh? Oi, you seen... oh. There he is."

As usual, Herc seemed a little nonplussed to see Chuck cuddling up to someone, but he didn't seem too bothered by it this time. Raleigh couldn't help but rub at the back of his own neck, though. It had to look strange, Chuck being all curled up in his lap and lounging back against him.

Thank God it wasn't Barnes calling, or Raleigh would _really_ never live it down.

"Oi, Dad. How goes the negotiations?"

"Fine, fine." But the marshal brushed this aside. "Didn't mean to interrupt, boys. Just stopped by your bunk on the way to a late lunch and worried when you weren't there."

The kid had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry 'bout that. Didn't think to leave a note. It was kinda spur-of-the moment." He grinned a little. "Felt so good to get out that I didn't wanna go back, yeah?"

Herc nodded, relieved enough to grin. "Understandable. Well, I won't bother you, then. As long as I know you're alright."

Feeling like a jerk, Raleigh piped in. "I'm sorry, Herc. I didn't think to tell you, either."

"No, no, it's fine." Indeed, the marshal seemed unbothered. "You boys have fun. You need anything to eat, then?"

Chuck smirked. "Just put ours away, actually."

"Lazy bastards."

"Oi!" But the kid didn't actually sound annoyed. "We were productive as fuck today. I went to therapy and Ray had a piloting lesson and brought back takeout."

Herc raised an eyebrow. "I'm exhausted just thinking about such exertion."

Raleigh snickered, but Chuck just waved it away. "You're just jealous, old man."

"That I am. Anyway, you boys have fun."

Just like that, the marshal was gone, and Raleigh frowned a bit. "Is it weird that he didn't ask to join us?"

But Chuck was already snuggling back into place. "Eh, he'd never just barge into your bunk, yeah? He'd feel like he was imposing."

A lightbulb went on, and he craned around to eye the kid. "Is that why you wanted to come to my room instead of yours?"

Unperturbed, Chuck merely shrugged. "Your bed's more comfortable."

He rolled his eyes and settled back against the wall. "You didn't know that until just now." Although he privately agreed.

"After a week stuck in my own, I'm pretty sure _anyone's_ bed is more comfortable."

"Dammit, I have to give you that one." He frowned a bit. "Just... if you didn't want him dropping in, you probably could have just said you were too tired for a visit."

Unfortunately, that got the kid fidgeting. "It's not that I don't want him around." The fidgeting increased to the point where the poor guy finally just scooted out of Raleigh's lap entirely, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. "I just... fuck, I was hoping we wouldn't have to talk about this until later." He turned his head, resting his cheek on his knees and grinning with very little humor. "Was enjoying the movie, yeah?"

Shifting to sit Indian-style, Raleigh grinned crookedly. "That's what the pause button is for."

The kid huffed a bit but didn't move to speak.

"Bad therapy session?"

Ginger eyebrows rose, but not in surprise. Raleigh wasn't sure what to make of the expression, actually.

"Good session, actually. Thought I had some real progress to talk about, yeah?" But those eyebrows came back down in a considering frown. "I talked about how we've gotten past our shit, yeah? How you've been helping whilst I'm sick and keeping me entertained so I don't run mad from boredom. I thought...."

Raleigh waited, watching every expression crossing that serious face, though he didn't know what half of them meant.

"I suppose... I didn't really mention you before, maybe? We weren't exactly at each other's throats, but we were hardly mates, yeah?"

Which seemed impossible to him now, but yes, it was true. They had not been friends of any kind before this week.

Chuck cleared his throat, fidgeting again. "Just... my therapist... she thinks I might have formed... an unhealthy attachment. With it being so sudden and all."

Raleigh's eyebrows shot up, but he forced himself not to react any other way. He wanted to sputter and protest. _His_ shrink would never say such a thing to him, after all. Then again, his shrink was doing well to ask if he'd had any new nightmares or just the same old horrors this time around.

The kid shot him a glance, grimaced, and looked away. "I've always been independent, yeah? Kinda had to be, what with how I was raised. She's glad we buried the hatchet, yeah, but... well, I might have given her the impression that we're a bit inseparable now, and... she's worried."

Suddenly, despite the little rat of panic waking up inside him -- not quite gnawing around yet, but definitely stirring -- Raleigh had to hide a grin. Exactly how much had Chuck talked about him? Half the session? More? Should he find that weird?

Because he didn't. At all. In fact, he thought it was rather sweet.

"And maybe she's right, yeah? I _don't_ need anyone. I've _never_ needed anyone. Why start now?"

The first ratbite always hurt the worst, and it was all he could do to not flinch from it. He didn't even know why he was so panicked all of a sudden. Chuck was _better._ He was _fine._ He didn't need Raleigh keeping an eye on him twenty-four/seven.

But... what the hell was he supposed to do now? Keeping the kid entertained had taken up all his energy for the past several days. He barely even remembered what he used to do besides self-directed physical therapy and sparring with Mako and eating and flying. And reading, of course.

Certainly not sleeping. And certainly not as much as he'd... oh. Right. He'd miss sleeping almost like a regular person. Almost as much as he'd miss... _oh._

The panic rat sank its teeth in again.

Sighing, Chuck thunked his forehead on his knees. "She may be right, but... mate, I won't know what to do with myself without you queuing up movies and reading to me and us playing cards. And maybe that's exactly what she means. Maybe it _is_ an unhealthy attachment."

His lips felt numb, but he forced them to move. "Does she want you to... cut off contact again?"

"No." The answer came reassuringly quick, and Chuck actually looked at him full-on for the first time since he'd started talking. "No, she's glad we've come 'round."

Some of the panic receded, and he did his best to swallow the rest down.

"Just... she thinks the constant company is too much. That we ought to wean it back to a more natural level." To Raleigh's surprise, the kid blushed a little. "And she also thinks I shouldn't be crashing an insomniac's sleep schedule."

He blinked, frowning a bit. "Even though I've actually slept better this week than I have since I was a kid?"

He didn't mention the lack of nightmares and the relatively few disturbing dreams that weren't even bad enough to wake him up. He might tell his therapist during the next session, but if it went anything like Chuck's session, he wasn't sure he wanted to ever go again.

Shrugging without unwrapping from himself, Chuck sighed. "She said it wasn't fair to you."

_Aren't I the judge of that?_

But he didn't say that. Despite his own discomfort... he wasn't sure the therapist wasn't right. They _had_ become inseparable, and it _had_ come from out of nowhere. Maybe it _wasn't_ healthy. Maybe his own reaction to the thought of not having Chuck at easy arm's reach all the time meant it wasn't healthy for either of them.

But he didn't like it. And it was obvious that Chuck didn't, either. Which, oddly enough, made him feel better.

So, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to settle himself. "Okay." Another. "Okay, so maybe... we try a compromise."

Chuck sat up, letting his knees fall until he, too, sat Indian-style. "Eh?"

"You said she didn't want us to cut off contact completely, right?"

Nodding, the kid looked a little less gloomy. Good.

"So maybe we hang out whenever we want during the day. Do our separate things like usual, but laze around together when we don't have anything else to do. No reason you should miss out on all the movies you're already missing, right?"

And that was a by-God grin. Almost a dimple.

"Then, since your therapist is so worried about my shitty sleep schedule, we'll go to our own bunks to sleep." His grin became forced, but he hoped Chuck didn't notice. "You're pretty much back on your feet by now, so I'm not worried that you'll have another coughing fit and need emergency help."

But he was. He hadn't even realized it until he said it. God help him, he hoped it didn't show on his face.

Chuck frowned a bit. "What if I... er, what if one of us has trouble?"

Dammit. As far as he knew, he'd never met Chuck's therapist, but he was tempted to track her down and give her a piece of his mind. The kid was just starting to feel safe, goddammit. Raleigh had promised he wouldn't leave him until he was back on his feet. He'd meant more than just "over the flu", though he hadn't thought about it at the time.

So... damn the therapist. He wasn't leaving the kid alone without back-up.

"We'll trade door codes. If either of us has a problem, we can either buzz for help or just get up and go." He couldn't help it. He felt his expression harden. "If she has a problem with that, she can talk to me about it."

The relief written all over that too-young, freckled face was indescribable. It was as if a weight was lifted off the kid's shoulders. Had he thought Chuck looked like a man with too much on his mind? Well, now he looked like a child who's just been told the boogeyman has been slain.

"Thanks for that, Ray." Despite the relief, the kid sounded one hundred percent sincere. "I mean it, yeah? You're a good mate."

Finally managing a hint of a real grin, Raleigh shrugged. "Hey, it's for me as much as you. I haven't had a nightmare all week. I'm out of practice. The next one might just land me a heart attack."

"Oi, fuck, don't even say it."

But the kid looked infinitely better than he had since that first big smile on the helipad, so Raleigh counted it a win. And he didn't protest when the brat cuddled up against him, fitted his head up under Raleigh's chin, and gestured at the movie wall in one of his silent demands.

"You sure you don't need to take a leak? Get a bottle of water or something?"

"I wanna see what he does about the giant purple ex-wife thing still being alive without a head."

Raleigh snorted and settled, stretching out his legs and getting the arm around Chuck's back more comfortably positioned in case the kid wanted his hair played with later.

"It's beautiful. I promise."

The kid grinned, though Raleigh couldn't see it from this angle. He heard it in the kid's voice.

"I believe you."

Grinning, he hit play.


	26. Chapter 26

"Wait wait wait. Is that hand moving?" Chuck pointed at the screen, jabbing his finger to emphasize each point. "Chopped off the body _and_ buried _and_ dug back up _and_ still fucking moving?"

"I notice you're not upset about the dog digging it up."

"Not the dog's fault. Dog's gotta dig, yeah?"

Raleigh snorted and scruffed the brat's hair. Said dog ran off with the still-moving ex-wife hand, and the hero lost his shit and ran inside for his car keys. Then, a knock at the door distracted him.

Chuck watched the neighbor woman leave her kid with a near-total stranger she'd only briefly spoken to earlier that same day with ominous silence. When she really did run off on a date and leave her toddler son with a strange man, the poor guy finally just put his hands up and huffed a little incredulous grunt.

"Really, lady? Because haunted houses are such great daycare centers, yeah?" Another grunt. "And you're real sure that bloke isn't a serial killer after a five-minute conversation."

Chuckling, Raleigh patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Chuck. Roger's the _last_ guy who'll let another kid disappear."

"But _she_ doesn't know that!"

The intentionally terrible scripting for the hero's _actual_ ex-wife's soap opera elicited several snickers, but neither of them got much of a kick out of the little goblin things that tried to steal the toddler away. The hero stopped them, of course, and the woefully inadequate mother showed up to collect her son, much to Chuck's grumbling. Luckily, Harold showed back up shortly afterward, and Raleigh was glad to see the kid perk up at the sight of the friendly, if nosy, next-door neighbor.

On the screen, Roger explained that _of course_ it hadn't been a ghost he saw the other night, that it had been a raccoon about the size of a St. Bernard. Raleigh snorted at Harold's nervous little "Cujo the Raccoon" reply, and Chuck twisted his head around to shoot him a questioning look.

" _Cujo_ is a Stephen King novel about a rabid St. Bernard, and Roger is a horror writer."

"Ah. Read it to me sometime?"

_Oh, God, no._

Unsure if he should laugh or not, Raleigh just grinned and shook his head. "I don't want you having nightmares about it happening to Max."

Chuck rolled his eyes, then gestured at the screen, where Harold looked like he was trying not to shit himself, almost crying behind his swim goggles with the harpoon gun held about as naturally as a rattlesnake in his hands.

"Gotta hand it to that bloke. He's scared shitless and pretty sure his mate is bonkers, but he's still trying to help."

"It gets better. Just wait."

Roger opened the closet door at the stroke of midnight, and the war demon spilled out. Harold screamed even as Chuck pressed back against Raleigh a little harder. The monster grabbed the hero and tossed him aside, finally clearing a lane for a freaked-out Harold to spear it with the harpoon gun. Unfortunately, since Roger had attached a line to the harpoon, they couldn't get off another shot. Then, the line wrapped around Roger's boot and hauled him off his feet toward the closet.

"Shit shit shit--"

Harold tried to hold on, and again, it was played for laughs, but Chuck didn't seem to think it was too funny when the poor guy had to watch his friend dragged into the closet, the tethering line disappearing after him.

Raleigh gave the kid a little squeeze. "It's okay. I promise."

Because the next scene was the heart of the matter, and he didn't want Chuck distracted from it. Roger had finally been dragged physically back into his memories, into the Vietnam jungles of his youth, and there lay Big Ben, shot up just as Roger's last story section had left him.

And there it was: Big Ben asked Roger to kill him, to put him out of his misery. He couldn't be saved and was in agony. Just end it.

And Roger couldn't do it.

Suddenly, Chuck shifted away enough to slip his arm around Raleigh's lower back and wrap the other around his stomach in a half-ass, sideways hug. "Not gonna lie, mate; don't think I could do it, either."

Raleigh's eyebrows shot up, even as he ran his hand up and down that broad back. "Really?"

That ginger head shook against his shoulder. "Maybe before, yeah, when I didn't really know you. I'd have done it out of respect for a fellow ranger and not batted an eye. But now?"

The grip tightened.

Strangely humbled by what the kid _hadn't_ said, Raleigh leaned his head down and rested his cheek on Chuck's hair. He had no idea what to say in response.

Then, while Big Ben was dragged away by the Viet Cong and screaming _"I'll get you for this, Roger! I swear I will!",_ Chuck sat up straight and spun to stare at Raleigh, wide-eyed.

"It's Ben, isn't it? Big Ben did it all. Because Roger wouldn't kill him."

Raleigh paused the movie and grinned, proud of the kid's quick-thinking and still feeling all soft and fuzzy from the earlier comment. "You figured it out faster than I thought you would."

Obviously chuffed, Chuck sat back on his heels. "I kept trying to figure out what the fuck the war had to do with his son disappearing. Everything kept trying to drag him further into the house, but he kept breaking away, even as he hoped for a way to find his son. Then, he _is_ dragged into the house, and it's Vietnam instead of... I dunno... a spirit world or whatever."

As quickly as he'd gotten excited, the poor guy deflated. "But... I mean, you wouldn't be furious at me for _not_ being able to put you out of your misery, would you?" His forehead puckered on a frown. "That part, I don't get."

Crossing his arms -- it was unusual to not have an armful of Chuck these days, and he didn't quite know what to do with himself -- Raleigh shrugged. "Remember when I told you that just being over there in all that paranoia tended to mess with the soldiers' minds?"

The kid nodded.

"Well, I think it's pretty clear that Big Ben was already a little fucked up. Roger was trying to stay alive over there, which meant keeping your head down and keeping quiet. Big Ben wanted to _fight._ Like back in that first battle scene where he's laughing it up while mowing down Viet Cong in the jungle. Like when he volunteered to walk point when even the pothead refused because of the danger. He was already unbalanced."

Again nodding, slower this time, Chuck frowned again. "So when Roger wouldn't finish him and he got dragged away by the enemy, he snapped."

Raleigh tilted his head one way, then the other. "Well, there's more to it, but we aren't to that part yet. Suffice it to say that Big Ben was already well on his way to Crazy Town, and what happened to him sent him there on the express."

That got a hint of a grin before the kid cuddled back up against him, both arms around him again. It was... rather nice to be held back, actually. Comfortable. Raleigh could see why Chuck liked it so much.

"Movie's still pretty fucked up, though."

He grinned and scruffed the kid's hair. "It really does have a unique concept. I mean, how many times in this kind of movie are you haunted by the guy you _didn't_ kill?"

Chuck snorted. "You're asking the wrong bloke."

Oh. Right. Because Chuck hadn't watched a lot of movies.

"Yeah, yeah. Ready for more?"

Another gesture at the screen in lieu of a verbal confirmation. Grinning, Raleigh hit play again.

Roger leapt out of the closet and landed in a heap on the floor, only to find Harold still there, drunk off his ass and passed out on the mattress Roger had used as a shield, the dropped fireplace poker in his loose grip.

"Oi, he stayed?"

Raleigh nodded. "I told you it gets better. Harold may be played for laughs because the annoying, nosy neighbor trope was a big thing when this was made, but he's a genuinely good guy." He shrugged again. "A few days ago, he was Roger's biggest fan and kind of saw him as a god, but now he knows about all his trauma and knows he's as human as anyone else. He's trying really hard to hold the guy together. He's worried about him and yeah, he called the cops on him, but only because he was afraid he was trying to commit suicide."

Chuck hmmed in agreement. On the screen, Roger helped a drunken, muttering Harold back to his own home, and Raleigh had a quiet, painless revelation.

"Honestly? I think we should all have a Harold in our lives."

Someone who would bring over a midnight snack to make sure a new friend isn't lonely. Someone who could listen to a story of heartbreak and confusion and, instead of backing away because it wasn't his problem, decided to call in the one person the new friend might listen to. Someone who would try to intervene -- _interfere_ \-- if he thought his new friend would hurt himself.

Someone who would be so horrified by seeing their new friend dragged off into the supernatural that they needed an entire bottle of hooch... but would still camp out by the spot where he disappeared in the hope that he'd somehow come back.

Yeah. Everyone needed a friend like that.

But Chuck only tightened his grip and huffed a quiet chuckle. "Speak for yourself, mate. I already got mine."

And that... for a moment, Raleigh couldn't even process the statement. Chuck... thought Raleigh was as good a friend as Harold? But he'd just... he hadn't really... he was just doing what anyone would, right?

"Yes, I'm talking about you, jackass. Jesus, Ray. You seriously need to learn how to accept a compliment."

A laugh coughed out of him, but he could only shake his head and give the kid a squeeze. The poor guy was obviously blowing things out of proportion.

But still. It _was_ a nice compliment.

Raleigh would just have to try that much harder to live up to it.


	27. Chapter 27

Raleigh paused the movie. "Okay, it's probably fine, but I figured I should warn you after the war demon thing."

Chuck twisted enough to look up at him. "There's something weirder than a mirror that opens on a medicine cabinet but shatters into an infinite void?"

Grinning, he scruffed the brat's hair. "Just... I didn't know... with some of the kaiju we've faced...." He shook his head and just said it right out. "Get ready for some tentacles and monster hands, okay? Fair warning."

Chuck's expression cleared. "Duly noted. Thanks, mate."

Relieved, he hit play and waited. When the first spiny tentacle slithered out and wrapped around Roger's arm, Raleigh realized Chuck wasn't the only one that needed some warning. If he hadn't remembered ahead of time, that in itself might have sent him scooting back up against the wall and still might show up in his nightmares later. Slattern's prehensile tails flashed through his mind before he vehemently shoved the whole thing away.

Oddly enough, the rest of the monster hands didn't bother him. And Chuck seemed oddly okay for someone whose jaeger had been wrapped up and slapped around by the biggest kaiju on record's tentacles. In fact, the kid seemed more edgy when Roger snatched up the straight razor and began chopping haphazardly at the grappling horde, narrowly missing his own arm and shoulder, than at the concept of the grappling horde itself.

They both relaxed enough to snicker when the weird, flying skeleton thing stole Roger's shotgun, flipped it with a flourish, and shot his anchor rope, dropping him into the unknown.

"Holy shit, his kid really _is_ there."

Raleigh let Chuck enjoy the happy reunion, even as the shadowy figure in the distance began shooting at them. Father and son jumped into the swampy Vietnam waterfront and dove deep, then came out in Roger's pool, where the poor kid had disappeared in the first place, while the music swelled.

"Oi, Ray." Chuck shifted slightly, a sure sign that he was thinking too hard. "This may be a dumb question, but... do you think my old man would--"

"Absolutely." Grinning, he leaned his chin down on the ginger head. "Not a dumb question. Just one I happen to know the answer to."

Thankfully, the poor guy didn't elaborate. Instead, he threw his hands up, his attention fully back on the movie. "Oi, why the fuck did he go back into that bloody awful house? With his goddamn kid on his arm?"

Sure enough, the hero opened the door and... boom. Big Ben, in all his rotting, skeletal glory.

"Now he's in the shit."

Chuckling, Raleigh sat back with Chuck in his arms and watched as Roger had his showdown with his memories, his decisions, and his one-lining old friend who'd been driven a little wonky by the war and then outright crazy by the torture that had followed his capture. Big Ben had haunted him, of course, but Roger had also haunted himself, which was the whole damn point.

And when the hero finally stood up to his nightmare past and shoved a literal grenade up under its ribcage, Chuck let out a whoop of victory. Raleigh grinned, thoroughly enjoying the kid's reactions.

Finally, the dramatic, victorious music rolled as mother and son were reunited much as father and son had been, and Chuck leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, content. "That was way better than I thought it'd be, mate."

"Right?" He couldn't help himself. He had to scruff the kid's hair again. "Told you it wasn't as depressing as _Crimson Peak."_

Snorting, the big jerk lurched up and crawled out of bed to stand and stretch. "Not gonna lie, mate. I was worried there in the middle. If not for Harold, I'd have been tempted to ask if you knew of one bloody movie that wasn't depressing as fuck."

Stretching himself, though he made no move to get out of bed yet, Raleigh grunted. "Hey. _Nightmare on Elm Street_ wasn't depressing."

One ginger eyebrow rose. "Practically everybody she knew died. And even if they maybe didn't with that ambiguous fucking ending, at the very least, she lost her mother and had to fight off a nightmare child molester who feeds off her dreams."

He wrinkled his nose. "You may have a point."

"And the _Halloween_ one ended up with pretty much everyone but the main character and the psychiatrist dead and the bad guy on the run and apparently unstoppable. And the whole _Poltergeist_ trilogy was just the universe pointing at one little girl and saying, 'Fuck you in particular and your whole family and everyone you meet, too'."

"Okay, okay. I get the point." But he smirked. "You're the one who wanted to watch cheesy horror movies."

The kid opened his mouth, then closed it on a wry grin. "Guilty as charged."

Suddenly, Raleigh remembered his surprise and brightened. "Actually, I know something that oughtta turn that frown upside down."

Grey eyes narrowed. "I'm not frowning."

He waved the comment away. "Details." Finally clambering out of bed, he hobbled over to the bag he'd all but hidden under his desk, unsure if his left leg was actually asleep or just stiff from being in the same position for too long. "I couldn't get the one I wanted, but Chau's got it on order, so I settled for my second choice to tide us over."

"Oi, yeah, forgot about your big mystery package." Grinning again, the kid actually rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Let's see what you got, mate."

Proud of himself for the successful diversionary tactic, Raleigh pulled the box out of the bag, leaving the smaller, flatter boxes in for the moment. "Tadaaah!"

The grin didn't die, but it did become more perplexed than anticipatory. "What am I looking at?"

Of course. Because Chuck hadn't been much of a gamer, even in his youth. Sighing -- but still proud of himself because this would be epic -- he tilted the box a bit. "This, you poor, sheltered child, is a PlayStation 2, brand new and still in the box. Chau wanted damn near a year's salary for it, but I told him I wasn't paying more than I would have when it came out."

One ginger eyebrow rose.

"Ugh, Chuck." He rolled his eyes and stuffed the box under one arm. "It's a videogame console. I wanted a Wii so we could play Mario Kart -- because, seriously, if we can play Mario Kart and not hate each other later, we have made some serious steps -- but this was all he had. Well, he had an Xbox One, but... no."

The kid blinked. "I'm gonna go ahead and assume any of that will make sense later, when I know what the hell you're talking about."

Raleigh snorted.

"But the long and short of it is...." The big jerk smirked. "You're about to get teabagged, yeah?"

"We'll see, junior. We'll see."

"Bring it on, has-been."

Smirking worse than Chuck on his best smirking day, Raleigh pulled his secret weapon out of the bag. He'd picked up several familiar-looking games -- _God of War, DragonBall Z Budokai, Call of Duty, Red Faction, Burnout 3,_ etc. -- but even Chau hadn't been above tossing the best one in for free as a good will gesture.

He flashed the game's cover. Chuck brightened even as his smirk deepened.

 _"Kaiju Krush._ No bloody way."

Because of course there had been a jaeger-versus-kaiju game. Hell, there'd been half a dozen of them on every console available. But this one... oh, this one.

Waggling the box, Raleigh leaned over into Chuck's personal bubble -- not that they'd been acknowledging personal space much in the past near-week -- and tried to tone down his smirk. With indifferent success.

"That's right, Hansen. This is the one with the training module where you can go jaeger versus jaeger."

Chuck followed his lead and leaned in, too, his smirk going full-on asshole. "Striker's gonna shove Gipsy's swords right up her ass."

Straightening, Raleigh snorted. "She didn't have chain swords when the game came out. She did, however, have her plasma casters. And...." He could not help himself. He reached over and patted the kid on the head. "And you're gonna have to beat the whole game to unlock Striker, since he was still in production at the time."

"Oi!"

"Or you could always play as Lucky Seven."

Riled -- but not actually angry, Raleigh was pleased to note -- the brat gestured at the box. "Set this fucker up. You're gonna be tasting Striker's balls by bedtime, you rotten sod."

"Whatever, young'un. I've been playing since you were in diapers." He blinked and cocked his head to one side. "Maybe literally. Huh."

"Shut up and open the box."

The smirk came back. "As you wish."

"Fucking. Ratbag."


	28. Chapter 28

"Fuck you, Becket! How do you keep hitting the fucking bus??"

 _Burnout 3_ was the best idea ever to familiarize the kid with the controllers. They didn't even have to play the racing part. They could just straight up wreck shit. Chuck was terrifyingly good at it, though he still couldn't beat Raleigh's scores.

Because Raleigh had learned from Yancy how to hit the score-inflating buses every. Single. Time.

"Skill, young padawan."

"Bullshit. You're old and you've been playing since dirt was new. It's like cheating, but it takes forever to pay off."

Okay, he couldn't help but laugh at that one. They'd been trading snark -- sometimes caustic, sometimes just smirky -- for the past... well, he wasn't sure how long, but that one took the cake. Only Chuck could confuse experience with cheating.

"We could always go back to Kaiju Krush."

The kid grumbled, fiddling with his controller. "I could've beaten every kaiju twice over if I didn't have to unlock Striker first."

Much to Chuck's shock, he wasn't instantly a master when Raleigh turned the game on, and the poor kid had been more frustrated than amused until they switched games. Raleigh tried to explain that using a game controller to pilot a jaeger was different from piloting a jaeger via the neural bridge, but Chuck wasn't used to not succeeding.

Shaking his head fondly, Raleigh gave in. As usual. "Okay, I'll do it."

More grumbling. "Do what."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll help you beat the game and unlock Striker so we can spar."

Chuck shot him a look, mouth twitching like he wanted to smirk or even just grin but had no intention of letting himself. "I should probably insist on doing it myself."

Raleigh didn't bother hiding his grin. "But you really, really wanna play your own jaeger."

"He has missiles, dammit!"

Snickering, he reached over and plucked the controller from unresisting hands. "Go switch out the games, brat."

Grumbling, Chuck obliged with a shockingly minimal amount of ill will. "I wanna play some of it, though. Striker won't do me any good if I still don't know how to pilot him in a match against you."

"Oh, you'll definitely play." Raleigh grinned as the kid finished switching games and crawled back into bed. "You're gonna go until you get stuck, at which point, I'll take over and get you over the hump. Then, you take over again."

The brat narrowed his eyes. "That sounds like a suspiciously fair deal."

He huffed a chuckle. "It's self-defense. These are new controllers, and if you're anything like Yancy, you'll throw them when you get frustrated. God, we replaced _so many_ controllers."

Chuck's expression seemed caught between worry and amusement, and Raleigh mentally replayed what he'd just said. Oh. He _had_ been pretty casual about blurting a Yancy memory, and Chuck had to know that his brother was still earthquake territory at the best of times.

But he hadn't even... even though he and Yance had spent _so many hours..._ he didn't even _think...._

"Raleigh?"

Dammit, this was not a good time to shut down. He was supposed to be making sure Chuck was in a better mood, not throwing himself into an emotional black hole. And he'd talked about Yance with Chuck before... hadn't he? Had surely at least mentioned him....

"Oi, mate, we don't have to--"

"No, it's fine." It wasn't. At all. Shaking his head, he forced a grin and handed the controller back. "It kinda caught me off-guard, but it's fine."

Chuck didn't look convinced, but he slowly took the offered controller. "Raleigh...." Swallowing hard, he shook his head. "Look, I suck at this shite, but... you'll tell me if it's... if it hurts too much, yeah?"

Softening enough that his grin was a bit more realistic, he scruffed the kid's hair. "We played all day without a problem. It was just a slip of the tongue. I'm fine. Really."

The poor guy fidgeted with the controls, seemingly unsure if he wanted to meet Raleigh's eyes or look away entirely. "Have you... oi, it's none of my business, mate, and you can tell me to fuck off any time, but... have you maybe talked to your therapist about... him?"

Something that felt like a knife forged from ice cut through him, and he fought to hold his expression. The idea of talking about... it was hard enough to think about the _good_ memories, let alone... but with a stranger? Even one specifically trained to listen to people's horrors?

"Shit, Raleigh, forget I said anything. I'm sorry." The kid looked gut-punched. "None of my fucking business, yeah? Just... let's just... fuck. Maybe another movie?"

Fighting to avoid touching his chest, where the ice knife seemed to have lodged itself without any hope of melting, he swallowed hard and gave up smiling. "Chuck, I know... you're just trying to help. I know that."

Unfortunately, the poor kid just shot him a miserable, guilty look.

Somehow, that look settled him a bit. Not a lot, but enough. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet." His head shook without his permission. "Hell, I can barely talk about Pitfall with him. I really don't think _he's_ ready for... anything else."

"Have you given him a chance?" The kid's eyes widened, like he couldn't believe he'd just blurted the question. "Fuck, don't -- I just mean--"

Unable to sit still any longer, the ice knife twisting at his insides like a living thing, Raleigh practically hurled himself out of bed, then didn't know what to do with himself. There wasn't enough room to pace, and... dammit, he had no intention of leaving. This was his room, goddammit.

"Raleigh, I'm sorry. I just... y'know what? Fuck it." Firming his jaw, Chuck scooted forward until his feet were on the floor, though he stayed seated. "Maybe you're stuck on Pitfall because... you saw how much it fucked the bloke up, and you don't want him asking about anything else, yeah?"

Incredulous, he spun to face the asshole he'd wasted a week coddling who had just turned on him like a rabid dog. "You've got some fucking nerve."

The asshole scowled, looking so much like his old self that Raleigh wanted to snort. And maybe kick him out.

"Yeah, I do, and it's a bloody good thing, yeah?" But the scowl eased back. "Look, I'm not trying to piss you off, mate. But talking about your mum with me helped you feel better about what happened, yeah? Jesus, I watched it happen. Maybe talking about your brother with a professional would do the same."

_Don't blow up at him. If you piss him off, he'll leave, and that might sound like a good idea right now, but what the fuck else have you got now?_

Clenching his jaw and his fists, he struggled to keep his old temper from flaring. He was better than that, dammit. And no, he didn't want Chuck to leave. Not forever.

Though for half an hour so Raleigh could get his head back on straight might help.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I appreciate you trying to help." He nearly choked on the words, but he got them out. He was pretty sure he even meant them. "But how I deal with my shit is none of your business."

The kid fidgeted on the edge of the bed, seeming stuck between standing up to get in Raleigh's face or staying put and being harmless. His hands clenched on the mattress' edge.

Finally, Chuck stood and immediately put his hands up, palms open to show he wasn't ready for a fight. "Raleigh, mate... I'm making it my business."

Raleigh blinked, thrown completely.

"Fuck, I see the look on your face every time you think about him. Even if it's a good memory, there's this... like it _hurts_ you, either way. I don't want you to feel like that forever, mate. So I'm _making_ it my business."

He... had no idea what to say to that. He wasn't sure if he was still pissed or... what. He was a complete emotional blank at the moment.

Blatantly telegraphing the move, Chuck reached out and put his hands very gently on Raleigh's shoulders. "I'm your Harold, yeah? So fucking listen to me."

The start of a grin touched the corner of his mouth. He wasn't ready for the full thing, though. He wasn't sure he wouldn't shatter into a million pieces if it really settled in.

"When's your next appointment?"

Swallowing hard, he tried to answer, but his voice was barely a whisper. "Monday."

The kid frowned a bit. "You missed one, didn't you? Because of me."

He had no idea how to answer, so he didn't.

"Right then. Harold says you're gonna call tomorrow morning and get a make-up appointment. If you can get a make-up chopper lesson, you can get a make-up therapy appointment." Leaning close, the kid speared him with those changeable grey eyes. "And you're not gonna talk about Pitfall. Promise me."

Could he do it? Could he skip over the monumental hurdle that Pitfall and another dimension and actually dying had become to talk about something that was, impossibly enough, even worse? Could he even begin to bring up Yancy and how badly he'd failed him? How he hadn't even been able to die with him so they'd still somehow be together? How he missed him like a drowning man missed air?

The line from the old Stephen King novel recurred to him and was just as perfect a description as it had been five years ago, ten years ago. Grief like cholesterol. Clogging his heart until it barely functioned anymore.

Could he even begin to clean that much gunk out?

"Raleigh? Promise me."

Swallowing hard, he met the kid's eyes and nodded. It was barely a movement, but it was as close to a promise as he could get.

To his surprise, visible relief washed over Chuck's face, and the kid abruptly jerked him in, hugging him almost brutally tight. Hard hands dug into his back, and he wondered how scared Chuck had been that Raleigh would turn him away, refuse him, kick him out and never speak to him again. How close he'd been to doing just that.

Maybe not so close at all, because his own arms crept up and tentatively wrapped around the newly-familiar bulk, hugging the kid back. Without loosening up an iota, the kid relaxed and huffed something that wasn't quite a laugh.

"Maybe a movie instead of the game?"

In other words, something they could just zone out watching instead of having to concentrate on or maybe get frustrated over. And Raleigh was for that one hundred and fifty percent. Plus, they could cuddle for the duration without having to explain it.

His voice still hoarse, he sighed. "I don't have anything queued up but haunted house movies."

"Who cares? We're already fucking depressed, yeah?"

Huffing a not-laugh himself, he carefully leaned away to see if Chuck would let go. The kid did so, looking embarrassed and rubbing at the back of his neck.

Most of his remaining stupor and fluster faded, and he managed a tired grin. "Well, if you're not picky, I may have one that's ridiculous and only depressing at the very end."

The brat rolled his eyes. "I don't even care. Just put the damn thing on, yeah?"

Weary and wondering if he'd even make it through the first hour, Raleigh turned off the PS2 and switched over to his playlist, navigating down to _The Haunting._ He'd always been partial to the one with Liam Neeson, even though it was sort of terrible.

And as he crawled back into bed with two bottles of water and a take-out box of cold egg rolls, he couldn't help but think of Chuck's surprising declaration before he started giving orders and expecting them -- or maybe just hoping for them -- to be obeyed.

 _I'm your Harold, yeah?_ the kid had said.

_I'm your Harold._

Unsure what to do with the statement, he settled back against the wall and opened his arms when Chuck gave him an uncertain look. And when the kid gratefully cuddled up against him, he merely wrapped his arms around him and held on.

For now, it was all he could do.


	29. Chapter 29

The movie was just as entertainingly awful as Raleigh remembered, but they were both tired and a little off-balance after the weird confrontation earlier. So, as soon as the credits rolled, even though it was barely supper time, they mutually decided to call it a night. It was time to try out Chuck's therapist's suggestion that they not spend every second together.

Chuck fidgeted at the door, and even though Raleigh still wasn't sure how he felt about the big jerk's interference, he couldn't help but find the awkwardness endearing.

"You should take the leftovers with you." It was a gesture, the best he could do at the moment. "I got it for you, anyway."

But the kid shook his head, grinning a little without looking very happy. "Nah, mate. I think I want some of your soup tonight. The noodles sound just right. You... you eat all you want, yeah?"

Raleigh nodded, though he doubted he'd eat much of anything. Maybe some potstickers. Though Chuck had really liked them, so maybe he'd save them for him.

"You'll call for an appointment in the morning?"

Earthquake territory again. It was probably a good thing he was too damn tired to be affronted. Instead, he nodded. "Get some sleep, okay?"

That finally got a less maudlin grin. "I make no promises."

"You have my door code, right?"

"110795. Got it."

He felt a pang that Chuck had no idea what the numbers meant, but he couldn't blame the kid. No reason Yancy's birthday should hang over Chuck's head like it did Raleigh's. Not like he knew what Chuck's code referred to, if anything.

Still fidgeting, the big jerk turned to leave, and Raleigh couldn't help a moment's swift... not panic, but... concern.

"Text me when you wake up?" Nervous now, himself, he scruffed a hand over the back of his neck. "We still have to unlock Striker so we can spar, and I doubt you're going back to work in the jaeger bay this soon, right?"

_Please don't push yourself that hard yet. You're still so easily worn out from being sick._

But he wasn't sure he could be on the fence about Chuck's meddling when he was still being such a mother hen himself, so he didn't vocalize those thoughts. He usually tried not to be a hypocrite. At least, not out loud.

But Chuck only grinned tiredly again. "No. I know I'm not up for heavy labor yet." A bit of warmth seeped in through the lingering discomfort. "I'll text you first thing, yeah?"

Nodding, Raleigh went to stand by the door as the kid left, frowning a bit as he watched that broad back until it disappeared around the curve of the hallway. He suddenly felt restless, the evening yawning wide and empty ahead of him. What did he use to do?

But that was stupid. He used to fill the time somehow, and he'd just have to do it again. Right now, he should probably head to the cafeteria for some supper. He could have leftovers, but it had occurred to him earlier -- because cold egg rolls were okay, but they had nothing on hot egg rolls -- that he'd never got around to requesting a microwave. Hell, he didn't even have a hotplate, like Chuck did. And other than the bottles of water on the bottom shelf of his fridge, he'd had nothing but room in there to store all those little tin-handled take-out boxes.

How had he never bothered to stock his room? Even Chuck had a few protein shakes, a foil-wrapped something that might have been half a sandwich or maybe a piece of pie, and a few chocolate bars tucked into his mini fridge before Raleigh took it over with Pedialyte and soup.

Shaking his head, he went to his desk and tapped out a requisition for a microwave. Chuck wouldn't likely want cold leftovers. And who knew? Maybe impromptu trips to the mainland for take-out would become a thing now. While he was at it, he requested an updated desk array. He should have done it before now, but it hadn't occurred to him until he couldn't get it to display exactly where he wanted it so Chuck could see easily from the bed. The old one was too damn fiddly.

That done, he pulled on a hoodie and headed for the cafeteria feeling like he'd at least done _something_ productive. And yes, he would call his therapist in the morning and see if he couldn't get an off-schedule appointment.

_I'm your Harold, yeah?_

He half-smiled distractedly at the kitchen crew, assuring them that Chuck was fine, just a little tired this evening and eating soup in his room instead of braving the crowd, but in the back of his mind, that phrase kept running on repeat. When Raleigh had said everyone ought to have a Harold, Chuck had quickly and easily claimed Raleigh as his.

That had been disconcerting enough -- flattering, in a way, but... closer than Raleigh had somehow thought them. But now, the kid had just barged in and named himself Raleigh's Harold, and... what did he do with that?

_I'm your Harold, yeah? So fucking listen to me._

A hint of a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sat down, only half-aware of what was on his tray. He guessed Chuck had already told him what to do with it.

"Raleigh? Where's Chuck?"

Shaking off thoughts he wasn't sure he'd ever make sense of, he glanced up at Mako, feeling strangely guilty. "He's okay. We had kind of a long day, so he went back to his bunk to get some sleep."

Well, it was true, anyway. Not terribly descriptive or informative, but true.

She frowned a bit and sat down across from him. She hadn't gotten her food yet. Or maybe she was already done? Either way, there was nothing to distract her from staring hard at him, obvious concern in her expression.

"Is everything okay?"

He didn't want to talk about it. Sighing, he prodded at the meatloaf he didn't remember getting. "Everything's fine. He's just tired, and you know how restless I get. I didn't want to keep him up."

Her eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

He shot her an unimpressed look. Unfortunately, she was equally unimpressed.

"You two have been joined at the hip since he got sick. You said you wouldn't abandon him until he was better."

His teeth gritted together, but he tried to relax his jaw. Mako didn't mean anything by the "abandon" part. She was just repeating his earlier words.

He hoped.

"He _is_ better." Swallowing and wishing he'd thought to make himself a cup of tea -- he needed to requisition a hotplate, too; he'd become somewhat addicted to the soothing ritual, if not the tea itself -- he shrugged. "We both thought it was probably a good idea to wean back to less constant contact." He huffed a chuckle that was too dry to signify amusement. "Only a matter of time before we get on each other's nerves, otherwise."

Of course, Mako wasn't fooled. Not even a little bit. "Did you two have a fight?"

Rolling his eyes, he debated shoving his tray away, then realized he hadn't eaten a bite. He sighed. "Not exactly. It's... complicated."

That got a quirk of her mouth that might be a smirk if she weren't still so concerned. "It's Chuck. Of course it's complicated."

He tried not to smirk. He really did. "Disrespectful."

And that was a genuine smirk, most of her intensity fading behind it. "But true."

Some of his own internal funk receded to the background, and he slumped back against the wall -- yes, like Chuck, he much preferred sitting where no one could sneak up on him -- and finally looked her in the eye.

"You sure you want in on this? I'm pretty sure it'll sound more than a little melodramatic if I try to sum it all up."

She rolled her eyes. "Just tell me. Good grief."

He grinned briefly, then looked down at his random scatter of food. "Everything was fine this morning. Then, Chuck had his therapy appointment, and I don't know what he said, but his therapist was concerned that he'd...." Pausing, he shot her a glance and squirmed a bit in his seat. "Maybe he'd formed an unhealthy attachment. To me. Because he was sick."

To her credit, Mako didn't snicker. In fact, she didn't allow her expression to change at all.

"It makes sense." Fidgeting now, he prodded at his jello. The blue stuff. Chuck would hate it. "I mean, he's spent most of his life on his own. He's... independent, ya know? And out of nowhere, his old nemesis walks in and just kinda sits down in the middle of his life. Sure, it was just because he was sick and kinda imprinted on me in a fever delirium, but it would sound strange to an outsider, right? Especially his therapist, who's well aware of how independent he is?"

She raised a single eyebrow. He sighed.

"Yeah, he didn't like it, either. Neither did I. But he's done really well with her advice up to now when he's not being stubborn, so we kind of agreed we'd at least try to go to our separate bunks at night and maybe not spend every waking moment tripping over each other all day."

He hoped for a grin. What he got was a narrowing of her keen, all-seeing gaze.

"That's not all, is it?"

He shifted again, uncomfortable and completely incapable of hiding it. He'd hoped she would be satisfied with Chuck's side of it.

He should have known better.

"I... we were just playing video games. I got him a PS2 to keep him entertained, and we'd been playing for a while and we were _fine,_ but I said something about... Yancy... and I didn't even know until I realized he was waiting for me to react to what I'd just said, and then I couldn't _help_ but... not that I...."

Swallowing hard, he rambled to a halt. This was way harder than it should be. If he couldn't tell Mako, how the hell was he supposed to tell the damn therapist?

_Dammit, Chuck. You can be such a stubborn asshole. And you're not even here right now._

"Raleigh?"

Shit. He'd shut down without even knowing it. Thankfully, Mako knew all about his emotional disconnects when something hit him too hard or unexpectedly. She'd learned more than she ever needed to know in the Drift from before he'd had any way of dealing with it.

"Three deep breaths. Please?"

He'd have to teach Chuck that trick. Unless they really did start to get on each other's nerves and decided to go back to being slightly-better-than-acquaintances.

The thought didn't help.

"Raleigh, please look at me."

She didn't touch him. She knew better than to touch him when he'd shut down. He wouldn't hurt her for anything in the world, but... he would startle. Sometimes, his startles were full-body.

Suddenly, as he forced himself to meet her worried eyes, he realized that he'd only shut down like this once during therapy. That first time, when he'd tried to explain to his therapist how he couldn't tell if that other dimension really _had_ been a blazing ruin of dying colors and eroding sunglare and eye-gouging shapes that hurt his mind... or if he'd just been slowly dying of oxygen deprivation and hallucinating out of his gourd. When he'd felt his lungs heaving for air that wasn't there -- but it was, it _was,_ he was in a boringly, tactfully decorated office in the shatterdome and there was plenty of air -- and had clawed at his throat because he needed to breathe, dammit, he couldn't _breathe._

When he'd suddenly felt very calm.

He hadn't been calm then. He'd just... shut down. He'd done it before, of course, but never in front of anyone. And he'd made damn sure he hadn't again.

Until today. Until Chuck, and now Mako.

Chuck was right. He hadn't really given his therapist a chance. And God help him, he'd promised Chuck he would.

 _Three deep breaths,_ the therapist had said that first (only) time. _Three deep breaths. Now, three more._

Better.

Color washed back into the world, and he felt like an asshole. Mako might "know" about his occasional mental sidesteps -- a defense mechanism? a quirk left over from piloting solo? a leftover from being braindead? a change to his brain activity from that other dimension? -- but she'd never experienced one in the flesh. Just in his memories. She looked almost as gut-wrecked as Chuck had when he said--

Swallowing hard, he shook his head, cutting the thought off before it knocked him off-kilter again. "Sorry. Sorry, Mako. I didn't mean to... sorry."

Hesitant now -- a side of her he rarely saw -- she slowly reached across the table and, after a quick glance to make sure it was okay, touched his hand. "Are you with me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm--" He broke off with a huff. "Well, I'm not fine, but I'm okay for now. I just...." Weary all over again, he gave her a travesty of a smile. "Didn't I say it'd been a long day?"

She didn't seem to have anything to say to that. She just laid her hand over his and gave him a small squeeze.

Sighing, he slumped. "Anyway, he... sorta called me out on not having dealt with... any of that, and we... well, things got... heated. It wasn't a fight," he hurried to say before she could get irritated. "Just... he made me promise to call for a make-up appointment in the morning because I missed one while I was taking care of him and...."

His jaw clenched. He hadn't exactly told Mako how little he'd progressed in his therapy, so he couldn't really tell her that he'd promised not to talk about Pitfall this time. _She_ was still going, of course, but she... didn't fight it. She knew her grief and her need to avenge her family very well, her guilt for living without Sensei when he had been brave enough to die without her, for outliving her family and not even being sure where their bodies had fallen, and she had already integrated most of it. Yes, she was still grappling with Pitfall, but only because she'd made some kind of peace everything else first.

She had no idea -- or very little idea -- that he _hadn't._

"...Just... he made me promise."

Her tone was gentle, as if she were trying to call over a feral dog. "How did he do that?"

A hint of a grin quirked his mouth. "He's my Harold. He means well."

"Uh... he's your what?"

Shaking off some of his funk, he looked at her and almost laughed. She couldn't seem to settle her expression on confused or surprised or even a little appalled.

"Long story. Just... he means well. But yeah, it was a long day for both of us, so we went to our separate corners for the evening after watching another movie." Smiling a little -- and actually meaning it, this time -- he shrugged. "See? Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about."

The unimpressed look made a comeback, and she shook her head. "I knew I shouldn't have left you two unsupervised. Look what you got yourselves into."

Grinning wryly, he turned his hand under hers and gave her a squeeze in return. "We're fine, okay? We may be a pair of idiots, but we're grown-up idiots. We can sort of take care of ourselves."

She stared at him.

_"Mako."_

Rolling her eyes, she cleared her throat. "That remains to be seen."

He grunted and scooped up an actual forkful of meatloaf. "Did you eat?"

"I was putting up my tray when I saw you playing zombie in the dessert section."

"I was thinking!"

"Sure you were." But she smiled finally and took her hand back. "Now quit thinking and eat your dinner."

He smirked. "Yes, mother."

She stood and put her hands on her hips, looking stern. "Do you want me to text Chuck?"

Well, shit. The last thing he wanted the kid thinking about tonight was how flaky Raleigh was that he couldn't even get mashed potatoes to go with his meatloaf without supervision.

"Thought not."

With that, she flipped her hair and strode away, leaving him shaking his head but feeling much more present. Less apt to fall into the bottomless pit of his past.

He actually managed to eat his odd, haphazardly compiled supper without any more interruptions, though he wasn't sure he truly enjoyed it. In fact, he caught himself wishing he already had a microwave. Potstickers, egg foo young, and a few chicken skewers would have suited him much better than the meatloaf, creamed corn -- which he didn't even like, as a general rule -- cucumber salad, and fruit cup had.

The jello was good, though. Blue raspberry was his favorite, and Chuck was letting the best of life pass him by.

Either way, he was at least fed. For a brief moment as he put away his tray and headed out into the vast labyrinth of shatterdome hallways, he thought about heading for the kwoon or the PT room and working some of his dinner off. Unfortunately, the hodge-podge wasn't settling terribly well, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't end up offloading it all over the floor if he worked out too hard.

So, despite having the evening free for the first time in nearly a week, he found himself spending it almost like he would have if Chuck were still under the weather -- lazing in bed in his pajamas, propped up by pillows, and reading a book on his tablet. All that was missing was a cup of tea.

And Chuck, of course. He'd gotten used to all that heavy bulk. And the smell of sandalwood right up his nose from the brat's hair sticking up everywhere.

Which reminded him that he needed to add new shampoo to the list. Hotplate, tea, mugs, and shampoo. And spoons, of course. Even Chuck had already had spoons.

Before he remembered to actually get up and jot the list down, though, he realized with a muzzy sort of surprise that he was easily halfway to sleep already. Unwilling to fight a pull he felt so rarely, he put aside his tablet -- he'd finished _Bag of Bones_ and moved on to _Cujo,_ though he sincerely hoped Chuck didn't ask him to read that one out loud -- squirmed down under his lone blanket, and sleepily reminded himself to ask the laundry to send up a couple more. He'd gotten used to more blankets and was actually rather chilly without them.

Idly wishing for Chuck's body heat wrapped around him like a cranky octopus, he let himself fall asleep.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raleigh has a nightmare. It's pretty awful.

Raleigh knew it was a dream. Chuck's eyes were a changeable grey, not a weirdly matte black that made him wonder if the kid had any eyes at all or if those were just empty sockets staring at him so implacably.

So he knew it was a dream. Didn't make it any less gut-twisting, though. He supposed finding himself inextricably wrapped in dozens of octopus limbs all radiating out from the big jerk he'd spent so much time with recently shouldn't be all that surprising, given how cuddly Chuck had turned out to be and all the unwanted thought about Pitfall. And tentacles.

The hooks were unexpected, though. Instead of suckers, those undulating, unpleasantly chilly limbs were lined on the undersides with thousands of tiny clawhooks, which was why he couldn't escape, why he was missing small hunks of flesh here and there, why he was steadily being pulled further into the Great Australian Octopus's inexorable grasp. The false, monstrous Chuck smiled, and his teeth were more of those razor-sharp clawhooks, set at an angle in rows upon rows to pull him in, the better to digest you, my dear. The familiar dimples were obscene on either side of that hungry mouth.

But he couldn't look away. All around him was the fulminating wasteland of that other dimension, the dying planet the kaiju overlords had used up without a thought, the horrific evidence of what Earth would become if they didn't stop the kaiju. He couldn't look at it. Even just in his peripheral vision, it set his soul to skittering inside him, set his mind tottering on its edge.

Better to look at this Chuck who wasn't Chuck, who was so hungry, who so desperately wanted to eat him, whose cold-as-the-deepest-ocean tentacle arms held him so gently even as they ripped pieces right out of him.

Who... was shaking him? That was new. It... hurt, actually. All those little clawhooks tearing away at him as he shook and screamed and finally fought back and--

"Ow, fuck! Raleigh! Jesus, mate, _please_ wake up!"

Still shouting hoarsely, he tore himself away from those grasping hands -- hands? not tentacles? -- and scuttled back across his bed until the wall stopped him, hard and reassuring at his back. Between that and the metal headboard, he'd squeezed himself into a corner and almost... _almost_ felt safe.

"Raleigh, please, you were having one fuck of a nightmare, but you're back now. You're awake and you're safe, yeah? Are you back with me?"

He sensed rather than saw all those arms reaching toward him and cringed back. "Don't. Don't touch me."

"Sorry, sorry." The hands -- only two of them? -- drew away. "Shit, I... what should I do? Is there something I can do to help?"

Chuck. Not Chuck the Hungry Nightmare Octopus from the Breach. Just Chuck, fidgeting and probably at least half as scared as Raleigh was. How the fuck did he get--

110795\. Right. His door code.

"Chuck?"

He hated how hoarse he sounded. Had he been screaming? Not in his dream but in real life?

"Oh, thank God. You're awake. Jesus, mate, what can I do?"

Blinking in the dark, he stared up at the dimly-lit outline of Chuck's wide-eyed face. "Are you okay?"

A harsh laugh. "Am _I--??"_ A big hand swiped up the barely-visible face outline and back into messy hair that Raleigh couldn't really see. "Fuck, Raleigh, only you could come out of a screaming nightmare and ask if someone else is okay."

He winced. "So I _was_ screaming."

"Oh, yeah." Sighing, the kid started to sit on the edge of the bed, then seemed to think better of it. "Heard it as soon as I opened the door. Scared the shit out of me." A huff that might have been a laugh if they weren't both still so freaked. "Well, I mean, not _literally,_ but...."

Raleigh wasn't quite ready to laugh yet, though. "Did you have a nightmare, too?"

The barely-visible head shook. "Couldn't sleep at all. I fucking hate my bed. Thought about texting you, but I didn't want to wake you up if you were sleeping. Thought I'd just come check."

It was Raleigh's turn to run a hand over his face. "Probably a good thing, or you'd have eaten me."

He couldn't see the blinking, but he could almost feel it. "I... sorry, come again?"

Now he could huff with almost-amusement as he slumped against the corner. "You were a giant octopus in that other dimension, and you were trying to eat me."

Silence.

"And your breath was terrible."

Rotting meat and dank corruption. Something both sickly-sweet and nauseatingly fishy. He shuddered.

"I... fuck, mate, I guess I'm sorry?"

A harsh bark of a laugh coughed out of him, and he felt more of the lingering horror fade. Tense muscle relaxed enough that he was able to scoot out of the corner, though only far enough to huddle under his meager, lone blanket, the corner of which he held up in invitation.

The kid didn't immediately comply. "You sure you want me in there after I tried to eat you?"

"It wasn't you." Part of him wanted to smile a bit. The rest of him couldn't. "It was... you're warm, and it was cold. _Radiating_ cold. Like its arms were packed with slush or something. And the eyes were... wrong." He frowned, trying to put it into words and failing. "Just wrong. It wasn't you."

Nodding enough to be seen even in the near-dark, the kid slowly crawled into bed under the blanket. When Raleigh didn't shy away -- in fact, hurriedly cuddled up against him because, as he'd said, Chuck was so damn warm, even when he wasn't running a fever -- he moved with more confidence, getting comfortable on his side while Raleigh curled up against his chest. It felt... safe. Warm and safe and _real._

"So I guess that's a failed experiment, yeah?"

Still feeling the dregs of the nightmare, he only nodded. Even with Chuck's warm, reassuringly solid and not at all rubbery arms around him, he could still see that horrible mockery of a smile, the dimples stretching and carving ever deeper as the hungry maw yawned wider and wider--

"You're shivering." Sighing, the kid rubbed his hands up and down Raleigh's back. "I'm guessing it's not because you're cold."

"Meant to ask for more blankets. Forgot."

"I could go get--"

But Raleigh's arms shot out and clenched around the poor kid before he could finish. "Don't. Please."

"Oi, it's all right, mate."

Big hands soothed up and down his back, one even going up to stroke through his hair. No wonder Chuck went full Max when demanding headrubs. Those strong fingers stroking gently over his scalp felt like... comfort. Like four blankets piled deep on a cold night. Like a cup of tea and a good book while the rain pattered gently on the window. Like lying before a fireplace and falling asleep to its hush and crackle.

"Not going anywhere, yeah? We'll get more blankets in the morning. Think you can sleep?"

He didn't know. All he knew was he didn't want Chuck to stop doing that. Thankfully, he didn't.

"That's right. Go back to sleep. Maybe we can both catch some shuteye now, yeah?"

Was he nodding off? He supposed he was. A little spike of fear shot through him at the thought of another nightmare, but he hadn't had one the whole time he was taking care of Chuck. Maybe the big jerk taking up all the mattress real estate and putting out muzzy warmth like a woodstove was a dreamcatcher. More likely, the kid was a handy mental distraction from all the shit still floating around his subconscious that he couldn't allow himself to think about during the day but was prey to at night.

Either way, he snuggled closer still until his nose was squashed up against Chuck's collarbone and felt the rest of the tension flow away on the slow, steady strokes through his hair and down his back. Through his hair and down his back.

Chuck was here. He'd keep the nightmares away.

Sighing, he let himself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, Chuck's point of view of this chapter is [here,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6604369) the third fic in the series.


	31. Chapter 31

The kid was still asleep when Raleigh woke up, but Raleigh had learned his lesson. Grinning and still more than half-asleep, he stayed right where he was, his back to Chuck's front, all of Chuck's appendages either wrapped around or tangled with his. The Great Australian Octopus in action--

He must have tensed for some reason, because big hands suddenly -- if rather randomly -- stroked at him, the kid nuzzling the nape of Raleigh's neck and making murmur noises. He relaxed under the gentle onslaught, not really sure why he'd tensed up in the first place. Chuck was clingy, yes, but he was also warm and solid and apparently a human Quaalude, because Raleigh already felt himself dozing back off. Nothing to be tense about.

Sometime later, his desk array beeped, and Chuck jerked against him, waking up like it was the kaiju alarm.

"Oi, Raleigh, is--"

"Ssssh! Jesus, Dad!"

Raleigh, who had been fully prepared to sit up and pretend to be awake at Herc's first word, decided to just lie still, instead. Chuck had sort of half sat up, but other than one hand going up to ineptly cover Raleigh's ear, that inexorable grip hadn't changed.

So much easier to just stay put.

"Oi, you always just start yelling at the poor bloke when you ring him first thing in the morning?"

He smiled internally at Chuck's furious whispering, the hand half-over his ear muffling but not fully blocking it out. He damn near smiled externally at Herc's return whisper.

"I'm sorry, yeah? Just... not used to... did I wake him? I'm not used to him still being in bed, let alone asleep."

Grumbling, Chuck gave up covering his ear now that they were whispering. "Yeah, well, if you hold him down long enough, he conks back out. So keep it down, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah." But Herc sounded more sheepish than irritated. "Was looking for you, anyway. Thought you said you were staying in your bunk last night."

The big, warm body at his back shifted. "Couldn't sleep, could I? He said to come back if I had any problems."

He must have tensed again -- what the hell was wrong with him? -- because a big, gentle hand stroked up and down his arm, and the kid curled around him even further.

Quieter still: "Oi, did you need something, old man? He's gonna wake up if we keep blathering."

"No, no." Herc's voice started loud but immediately lowered, even as Chuck grumbled at Raleigh's back. "Sorry. I was just checking if you wanted Max for walkies this morning, but I can get a tech for it. You two get some sleep, yeah? You both could use it."

"Right. Oi, can you do me a favor?" The stroking hand stopped, tightening a bit on his shoulder. "Actually, it's for Raleigh."

"Yeah?"

The poor guy's voice lowered further. "Can you see if his therapist can get him an appointment this afternoon? He missed one whilst looking after me."

Chuck's expression must have given something away, because Herc sounded... resigned?... when he spoke again. Raleigh did his best to remain completely still and not tense up again.

"I can do that. I'll text you the details, yeah? So I don't wake you up again?"

"Good. Thanks, Dad."

The marshal signed off without another word, and Chuck settled more fully against him, basically snuggling up to him. Raleigh didn't mind.

He did, however, have something to say.

"Thanks, Chuck."

The poor guy sighed. "Dammit. Go back to sleep, yeah?"

"Mm-hm."

He honestly didn't think conking back out twice in one morning was possible, but with Chuck's comforting heat at his back, he felt himself drifting away almost as soon as he closed his eyes again. It was a nice feeling, not having any particular reason to be up and about, not feeling like he needed to escape the bed that had either not allowed him to sleep or had held him captive during his nightmares. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was a perfectly comfortable bed.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to spend more time in it, especially if Chuck really did hate his own enough to frequently crash in Raleigh's.

Sometime later, he woke again, pretty sure that this time, he was awake for good. Chuck was still asleep against him, but when Raleigh couldn't resist a good, long stretch, the kid let him go easily enough and rolled to his back to do the same.

"Fuck, mate. Your bed is comfortable as fuck."

Idly scratching his belly under the blanket and his t-shirt, he realized he wasn't in a big hurry to clamber out of said bed just yet and had to agree with Chuck's assessment. Yeah, he could stand to take a piss, and his breath could probably use some tending, but he was... comfortable.

"I take it yours gave you problems last night?"

Chuck turned his head, still lying on his back, and eyed him. "Couldn't sleep, yeah? Probably a good thing, too." The kid's tone lightened, but that intent expression didn't. "I walked in just as I apparently tried to eat you."

He blinked. That... made no sense. Why would Chuck try to eat--

_The Great Australian Octopus in action._

Oh. _Oh._

Tentacles. Millions of tiny clawhooks digging into him. _Dimples._ Goosebumps shifted the hairs on his arms, and he abruptly shivered so hard it was more of a shudder.

"Oi, it's all right, mate." Thank God, but Chuck cuddled up to his side, a heavy arm going around him just under his ribs. "It was one fuck of a nightmare, but that's all it was, yeah?"

He should probably be ashamed of how instantly he clung to that hard arm, how he squirmed further into the shelter of Chuck's bulk, but right then, he'd have done just about anything to not remember the rubbery, deep sea chill of those thick tentacles, the flat, matte black of the creature's eyes, the obscenity of dimples so deep they should be bleeding on either side of that gaping maw.

And, hey. Chuck was offering. He'd be a fool not to take the kid up on it.

"Sorry." He couldn't help apologizing even as he burrowed under that broad shoulder. "Sorry, just... I didn't remember... and sometimes it... it lingers. The...."

Strong fingers stroked through his hair, impossible comforting. "I got you, yeah? I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No, I--" Swallowing hard, he shivered again. He wasn't making any sense, and he definitely needed to. "I think I was thinking about it earlier, before I really woke up. Sometimes I won't think about a dream like that all day and then... boom. Out of nowhere, I'm right back in it."

The kid sighed, still stroking his hair and the nape of his neck. "So... they're pretty frequent."

 _Pretty much any time I get more than a couple of hours of sleep._ But he didn't want to say that.

So he shrugged. "Depends on how much sleep I'm getting.'

There. Not a lie. Just... not the whole truth.

And, though he strongly suspected Chuck knew better, the kid didn't call him on it. So they lay quietly for a while, not drowsing back off but not in a big hurry to get up and get on with the day. Honestly, Raleigh wasn't sure what was expected of him now. Their big experiment had failed, and hard, so... what now?

Besides Chuck's fingers combing through his hair. Because he had to admit it felt pretty damn good. He was glad he hadn't given the kid a hard time about it when he was sick because he'd feel like a real jerk right now if he had.

After a long, quiet moment, Chuck suddenly breathed in sharply, as if he'd been about to drop off. "Oi, oughtta check to see when the old man got you an appointment."

His heart rate jumped, but he managed not to tense up. He'd promised. To talk about something besides Pitfall. To give the therapy a real try.

Fuck. _Fuck._

"Later, mate. That's all later, yeah?"

Oops. He'd tensed up, after all. Chuck's warm, heavy hands tried their best to soothe, and he felt a frankly ridiculous amount of gratitude that the kid was trying to help instead of giving him shit for being such a coward, as he still half-expected. He hadn't anticipated kindness, even after they'd spent so much time together. Not after so much time spent on the wrong side of the big jerk's temper.

It had only been a week, after all. Not even a week, really. But....

_I'm your Harold, yeah?_

Maybe he could trust in that. At least until the kid gave him reason not to.

"What say we brush our teeth, get some brekkie, and watch a movie take our minds off it?"

Sighing -- he really was comfortable, and he sort of hated to get up, though he knew they'd have to eventually -- Raleigh scooted out from under the kid's bulk and sat up, scruffing at his hair. "Sounds like a plan. My mouth tastes like a dead cat."

Chuck rolled out of bed and stretched again. "Not gonna ask how you know what a dead cat tastes like, mate."

Ignoring the comment -- though he hid a grin because, yeah, he'd walked right into that one -- he clambered out of bed and yawned. "What time is it?"

Grunting, the kid strolled over to Raleigh's desk array and prodded it a few times. "This thing is old as fuck, mate. Why haven't you upgraded-- oh. Dad approved your requisition for an upgrade." He snorted. "With a note."

He blinked. "What note?"

Oh, that smirk. "And I quote, 'About fucking time, Becket. Jesus.'"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Your dad...."

"Oh, trust me. I know." But Chuck sounded amused instead of annoyed or bitter, so it was probably okay. "If there's one thing I know about my old man, it's that he's a doer, not a sayer. Anyway, the techs are on standby to come upgrade you as soon as you're up."

Blushing a little, he scruffed the hair at the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh... thanks for that."

The kid's eyebrows went up.

"This morning. Yeah, I was awake, but I'd have had a lot harder time going back to sleep if I'd talked to him and probably would have just gotten up. So... just... I appreciate you running interference."

To his surprise, Chuck looked almost pole-axed by the gratitude. Ready to be flustered or even annoyed, yes, but... unless Raleigh missed his guess, sort of pleased, too. Like he hadn't expected Raleigh to thank him, maybe? Or as if he hadn't thought himself worthy of thanks?

Either way, it was as weirdly adorable as anything else about the Chuck Hansen he'd gotten to know.

"Oi, just... y'know... you were my Harold when I needed it, yeah?"

Smiling crookedly, he nodded. "At least neither of us is Big Ben."

The kid grinned, the dimples out in full force. "Not gonna lie, mate. I'm pretty sure I'll tell you 'you're pissing me off, Roger' at some point."

That got a chuckle, and they both relaxed, so Raleigh tilted his head toward the bathroom door and raised his eyebrows. Chuck waved him off, so he went about his morning routine, though he hadn't performed it with any regularity for nearly a week.

Step one: splash his face with cold water, which was usually because he was either trying to wake up completely from a nightmare or hoping to bring some color to his face after another sleepless night. Step two: take a leak, if needed. Step three: brush and floss his teeth almost obsessively, because he'd made it through five years and four months without any dental problems, but the PPDC staff dentist was a terrifying little woman who had given him the mother of all stink-eyes for not flossing that whole time. Step four: shower and/or shave, depending on whether or not he gave a shit how stubbly he was any given day.

Step five: stare at himself critically in the mirror to see if he looked as wild-eyed or exhausted or just plain lost as he felt.

Not that he'd ever thought about it in those terms or even realized that's what he was doing. But this morning, staring at himself and hoping he didn't look like he was still caught up in Hungry Nightmare Octopus Chuck's murderous grip -- and did he want to look too closely at why it had been Chuck trying to eat him alive? no, he did not -- he couldn't help but acknowledge that... yeah. That's pretty much what he'd been doing almost every morning at the end of his bathroom ritual.

Assessing. To see if he'd pass muster out there in the shatterdome. If Mako or Herc or Barnes or Jenkins would see.

Would Chuck see?

More important question: was it okay for Chuck to see?

But that one, he wasn't ready for himself. So, he shook it off and headed back out into the bedroom, only to find Chuck standing over by the counter, a mug on a hotplate, a box of tea off to one side. He blinked. Just how long had he been staring at himself to see if he still looked starey around the eyes?

The kid grinned. "There you are. Got tired of waiting to take a piss, so I ran back to my bunk for a second. Thought a cup of tea sounded nice the second I saw the box on the counter."

Since he was fairly certain he hadn't actually asked for a hotplate yet, he could only guess that Chuck had brought back his own. And the herbal tea they'd both been sipping all week. And a mug -- no, two mugs. Spoons.

Chuck's grin faltered a bit. "I mean, if that's all right...?"

He shook himself, not sure what he'd been thinking. "Yeah, it's fine. Tea sounds good, actually. All I have is water."

The kid grunted and returned his attention to the old ritual. "Yeah. I noticed. I also brought some juice and a couple of tubs of soup to round out the leftovers."

There was a faint accusation in there somewhere, but since he couldn't be sure he didn't deserve it, Raleigh shrugged it off and slumped over to the bed to sit on the edge. "I notice you left out mention of the Pedialyte."

Was that a growl? Because it sounded like a growl.

He smirked. "So, what do you wanna watch? The rest of the haunted house list is pretty grim. I was thinking about _The Changeling_ last night because I remember it having so much atmosphere, even though some of the acting is a little melodramatic, but then I remembered that it starts off depressing as hell and only gets worse from there. I don't think it even really has a happy ending."

The brat rolled his eyes and handed him a steaming mug. "Yeah, let's wait on that one. Sounds more like an after-dark kind of movie, anyway, yeah?" Tea delivered, he went back to the counter to wait for his own mug to boil. "How about that last one again? The part where the bloke gets his head bit off by the chimney lion is pretty damn funny."

 _And neither of us will have to pay too close attention or worry about something upsetting us on such an off-kilter morning,_ Raleigh thought but didn't add out loud. He wasn't complaining, though. In fact, he appreciated the consideration.

So he grinned. "You have a really morbid sense of humor, Chuck." When the big jerk shot him an unimpressed look, he let his grin twist to a smirk. "Wish I'd known that _months_ ago. We could have been indulging our mutual schadenfreude this whole time."

The immediate smirk was so Chuck it was almost adorable. "Nothing but time now, mate."


	32. Chapter 32

But first, Chuck informed the techs that Raleigh was up and ready for his new array to be installed, so they lounged around on the bed, playing a desultory hand of War with Raleigh's battered old deck while they waited. The brat's stack was about twice the size of Raleigh's when a knock thankfully interrupted the unending flow of smug. Because Chuck really, really liked to win.

Oddly enough, when Raleigh called out a welcome, it was Tendo who strolled in with his arms full of little bits and bobs of technology, grinning ear to ear.

"It's about time you upgraded your system, Becket Boy. Hey, Chuck. I would've done it before you even got here, but the marshal didn't tell me it was _you_ he was going after, although I probably should've guessed since it was Gipsy standing in the jaeger bay. I blame it being the end of the world for me not connecting those dots. Anyway, I just sent the cleaning crew to tidy up instead of actually fixing shit, ya know?" If the guy paused for breath, Raleigh didn't hear it. "I kept expecting you to say, 'Hey, Tendo, come hook me up with the latest stuff', but you never did. Seriously, Rals, did Marshal Hansen put you up to it finally? No, it was Chuck, wasn't it?"

Finally, a pause. Apparently, Tendo had managed to ingest his optimal morning's caffeine intake.

"I had nothing to do with it, Elvis."

Which wasn't entirely true, but Raleigh didn't argue. "Honestly, the damn thing hasn't seen much use since it stopped being a kaiju alarm."

"Whatever." Tendo piled everything on the counter space nearest the desk and started in. "So how you feeling, Chuck? The marshal's been really worried, but you know how he gets when he's trying not to show it. Makes it more obvious than ever, am I right?"

Chuck grinned, bemused. "Maybe to outsiders, yeah?"

Raleigh's eyes widened, but Tendo only chuckled. "True enough. But hey, at least you and Becket Boy here are getting along now. Did I tell you there's a running bet on how long it'll be until your next hallway brawl? I put my money on 'never', but I'm the only one. So, ya know, maybe not ever fight again?"

He blinked. "Uh... could you ever actually collect on that? I mean, never is... kinda infinite, right?"

Tendo winked. "Just do me a favor and hold out until the second-longest time frame is over, and I'll split the take with you."

"Oi!"

"Fine. We'll split it three ways."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Fuck that, mate. You might as well collect on it now. Ray and I are fine, yeah?"

Raleigh smirked. "We'll see how your resolve holds up to Mario Kart."

"Whoa, bringing out the big guns, Rals." Though he was still fiddling around in the array's inner workings, the jerk paused long enough to shoot him finger guns. "I remember Mario Kart night back in the day. I swear you used to camp back in last place just so you'd get the blue shell and knock Yancy right out of the running. Man, I thought he'd tear your head off for it at some point."

Chuck shot him a concerned look, but Raleigh gave a short shake of his head and a tense smile. He knew Tendo didn't mean anything by it. But yeah, it hurt to think about those times.

Because yeah, he absolutely _had_ been a camping bitch, as Yancy had proclaimed on more than one occasion. He couldn't help it. His brother was hysterically voluble when he was purple with impotent fury, and nothing brought it on faster than the dreaded blue shell.

"There we go, Becket Boy. You are now top of the line and installed by the master himself. You have any problems with this betty, you call me direct, all right? I don't want just anyone messing with my opus here." Barely pausing for breath, Tendo packed up his kit, gave Raleigh a big hug, and strolled out the door with one last, "See ya, Chuckles!" tossed back over his shoulder.

Raleigh shook his head. "Ya know? I kinda forgot how he was when he wasn't stressed out."

Chuck huffed. "Honestly, mate? I've never known him when he _wasn't_ stressed out. Frankly, it's weird."

He grinned and elbowed the kid. "You should see him drunk."

"Jesus. Pass."

A few choice stories came instantly to mind, but his stomach picked that moment to growl. Sheepish, he rubbed the spot. "So, leftovers or cafeteria?"

"Eh, don't really feel like being social, mate. What say we go grab some bagels and shit and come back here to eat?"

That... wasn't a bad plan, actually. His microwave hadn't been delivered yet, so the leftovers would be cold, which might make the sauces gross, and if he was honest, he wasn't feeling social, either. Bringing some portables back to his bunk was an ideal solution.

So, shrugging on a pair of Raleigh's hoodies, they headed for the cafeteria, nattering more comfortably than Raleigh would have thought possible even a week ago. Chuck wanted to know more about the too-depressing flick and insisted they watch it later, if Raleigh was in the mood. Left unstated was the _"unless you're in too bad a place after an emergency therapy session",_ and Raleigh appreciated it.

While they grinned at the kitchen staff -- all of which were thrilled to see them both looking healthy and hale -- he regaled the kid with possibilities like _Alien,_ which was basically a haunted house story in space with science, and _The 'Burbs,_ which was a haunted house story with creepy bone-collecting serial killers instead of ghosts.

And Chuck wanted to see them all. Unfortunately, before they could escape with their bagels and pastries and various spreads and jams, the head chef guy announced with a broad grin that it was waffle day, which only happened once a month. And then Mako strolled in, saw them, and brightened like a sunrise.

So, instead of going back to Raleigh's room and camping out on his bed, they found themselves sitting at one of the corner tables with buttery, syrupy, crispy fresh waffles and Mako, who had gone with fresh fruit and whipped cream.

"So you're fully recovered?" she asked Chuck, neatly cutting her waffles into bite-sized squares.

To his credit, he chewed fully and swallowed before answering. "Pretty much, yeah. Still trying to get my strength back." Frowning, he jabbed at another bite. "Seems like I only have a few hours in me at any given time before I need a goddamn nap." Then, he brightened. "Thank God Ray's a bloody comfortable pillow, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes, enjoying his waffles too much to comment. Mako just shot him a tiny smirk.

"I wouldn't know. He doesn't let me use him as a pillow."

Unperturbed, Chuck shoved the latest bite over into his cheek. "Get sick. Works wonders."

He snorted.

Mako rolled her eyes. "Thank you, but I'll pass. I don't have time to be sick."

"True enough."

They ate in happy silence for a while, enjoying the relative novelty of both waffles and comradery. Unfortunately, Mako had to go back to her office for a phone conference with some private donors before they finished. Since they no longer had any reason to dawdle, Chuck and Raleigh both silently agreed to shovel in what was left and take the already-bagged bagel/pastry haul back to Raleigh's bunk. Chuck probably wouldn't eat anymore -- apparently, he still didn't have a lot of spare stomach room -- but Raleigh at least wanted a cheese Danish before calling breakfast done.

It wasn't until he was settled in his usual place against the wall between the headboard and Chuck's bulk with his pastry and a fresh cup of tea that he realized what else the kid had brought back from his own bunk this morning. Chuck's pillows and blankets -- including the extras Raleigh had requested -- were piled neatly in easy reach, which Chuck took advantage of by draping a heavy thermal throw over both their legs.

"Comfy?"

Grinning softly, he nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, man."

And Chuck grinned back just as softly, the expression like nothing Raleigh had seen on that usually arrogant and brash face. "Welcome."

So, warm and comfortable and well-fed and well-rested for perhaps the first time since his mother was alive, Raleigh turned on the movie, which looked amazing with his new array. They leaned together and laughed in all the right places, and only Raleigh would ever know that Chuck actually did jump for all the jumpscares. Not that the kid visibly leapt, of course. No, he felt the twitch of tense muscle against him and had to hide a grin each time.

Chuck proposed some specs on how to build a mechanized carnival room like the one Nell and Theo stumbled into and danced around, though he insisted they could do better with the music. Raleigh explained who Jacqueline Susann was, which led to him explaining why he'd ever picked up a book called _Valley of the Dolls._ He couldn't help but relish the look Chuck gave him as he did so. That half-incredulous, half-admiring look.

He was maybe... kind of getting used to it.

Unfortunately, due to their later-than-usual start and the handy brunch with Mako that he didn't regret for even a second, they didn't have time for another movie before Raleigh's appointment. In fact, he was tempted to go in his flannel pajama pants and hoodie because, what with the multiple pauses to talk about all the pop culture references like Jacqueline Susann and the Teletubbies, he almost didn't have time to change.

But at just after noon, he stood in jeans and a PPDC sweater, fidgeting with the cuffs and trying to swallow down the dread. He'd put it out of his mind -- he was appallingly good at compartmentalizing like that -- but now, it was time.

And he'd promised.

"Oi, thought I might sit in with Dad for a bit whilst you're... out, yeah?" The kid tried a grin. The dimples were a no-show. "Just... maybe text me when you're done. Or I could stay here, if you'd rather?"

He swallowed hard and pulled the cuffs down over his hands. "No, no. It's... it's okay. Go do your thing. Tell Herc thanks for setting this up?"

Looking as pale as Raleigh felt, Chuck nodded. "Will do, mate." He hesitated, then reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder. "Good luck, yeah?"

_I'll need it._

But he wouldn't say that. So, he forced a grin and left the safety of his room. Chuck veered off with one last, worried look, and Raleigh made his way to his therapist's office on his own. It wasn't really an office, of course. It was just another multi-purpose room in the dome that had been made into an office. The "waiting room" was a line of three chairs sitting in the hallway just outside the door.

He didn't bother knocking to announce himself. His therapist -- "Larry, just call me Larry, please" -- was always on time. He scheduled appointments two hours apart to give himself time to fill out all his paperwork in case a session went over. He'd said during their first visit that he understood how hard it was for his patients to come to these appointments, so he tried to never make it any worse by making them wait past their time. Raleigh had very much appreciated the sentiment.

Honestly, he still appreciated it, because just as he started to fidget, the door beside him opened, and Just Call Me Larry smiled nervously at him. "Come on in, Raleigh. I'm glad to see you."

 _I'll bet,_ he thought but didn't say. Instead, he tried to smile with indifferent success, stood, and followed the somewhat nebbish little guy into the office. He'd never been what he thought of as a "couch man", so he always took the comfortable armchair instead of the chaise lounge.

Once settled, he stared across the room and wondered what the fuck he was even doing here.

"I was glad to hear from the marshal that you'd only missed our last appointment because you were helping a friend." The tone was friendly enough, but Raleigh didn't miss the hint of nerves just under the pleasant tone. "How is he? Your friend?"

This, he could talk about. "Good. He's much better now." And then, he knew exactly what to say. "He's the one who insisted I shouldn't skip the whole week."

Larry's eyebrows went up behind his wireless glasses. He only wore them when taking notes, so Raleigh assumed they were just reading glasses, even though Larry definitely seemed like a glasses-all-the-time kind of guy.

"Well, I'm glad he did."

They were quiet a moment, and Raleigh wanted to sigh. Suddenly, he felt genuinely sorry for his therapist. What the hell could he do to help someone as fucked up as Raleigh was starting to realize he was? Nothing against the guy, but... what could _anyone_ do?

But he'd promised.

"Larry?"

"Hm?"

He closed his eyes and slumped down in the chair, leaning his head back against the buttery-soft leather. "I... I know I'm nowhere near to dealing with... just... everything about Pitfall."

The nerves were more obvious now as the poor guy shifted in his own armchair, crossing his legs at the knee and fiddling with the cap of his pen.

Swallowing hard, Raleigh bit the bullet.

"So... I thought... maybe we could talk about something else for a while. There's... there's just so much. I think... maybe you could help me with some of that first."

Larry was silent a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice held both relief and warmth. "I think that might be a good idea, Raleigh. What would you like to talk about?"

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to stare up at the metal ceiling. Could he do this?

He'd promised Chuck. He'd promised his Harold. He didn't want to be Roger anymore.

"Yancy." His heart throbbed uncomfortably, but he swallowed it down and pushed on. "I think I'd like to talk about Yancy."

"Okay." That was definite warmth and... sympathy. He hadn't expected sympathy. "Tell me about Yancy."

So, he did.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raleigh loses his shit, guys. Sorry. It ain't pretty.

Raleigh wasn't sure what the big bag had ever done to him, but he was by God making it pay for it. He felt... raw. Scalded. Flayed open and left to dry up in the sun.

He'd talked about Yancy, all right. Talked until he was hoarse and his eyes had leaked steadily and he finally had to just stop because it was too much, it was still too raw even after almost six years, and that particular wound would always fester, would never be clean, would never heal. His arms already ached from exertion, his back pleading with him to stop, his legs like jelly, but he kept after that fucking bag, and it just kept swinging back at him after even his hardest hits, and he wanted to fucking rip it open until all the sand poured out and left it as empty and gaping a husk as he was right now.

Fuck therapy. Fuck talking about things. Silence was better. _Numb_ was better. Numb didn't fucking hurt this much, and he was never talking to Chuck Fucking Hansen ever again because that motherfucker had _lied_ to him. This wasn't better.

It would never be better.

He'd thought he was past it. He'd thought that, since he was able to get Mako out of Gipsy, he'd made some kind of peace with what happened to his brother. He'd thought he was past the occasional full-body sensory memory of standing there, helpless and twitching at the feedback, while Yancy was ripped out of the conn pod, out of his head, out of his fucking _soul._ The lung-tearing scream that cut off his brother's last words. The light and life that had been Yancy Becket flickering in his mind, then going out forever.

He wasn't past it. God, he hadn't even _touched_ that swollen, blistered, infected poison sac of a wound, hadn't even really known it was there no matter how many times he blundered into it in the dark. And now that he'd acknowledged it, he felt like it had exploded all over him, flooding him with a scalding acid mental agony he'd never even dreamed of.

And he hated it. He fucking _hated_ it. What good could this ever possibly do?

_Goddammit, Chuck, why did you... why would you... how could you do this to me??_

"Raleigh?"

Speak of the arrogant, freckled asshole of a devil. Gritting his teeth so hard his jaw and molars let out a twinge of protest, he kept after the big bag, trying to hurt it somehow.

"Jesus, Ray, how long have you been at this?"

He didn't want to talk to that lying motherfucker. He punched harder, his left arm and ribs screaming at him. His right side wasn't far behind.

"Raleigh, please, mate, just stop for a minute, yeah?"

A hand touched his shoulder, and he spun incredulously, slapping that hand away. "Don't you fucking touch me."

The lying motherfucker blinked and backed a step, looking completely thrown. Not afraid though.

_He fucking should be._

"Oi, Raleigh...?"

His fury crested until he legitimately saw red. The entire kwoon was edged with crimson in his vision, his heart thundering furiously in his chest, the pounding beat raging in his fingertips and toes and ears. He was dimly aware that he'd never in his life been this mad. This dangerous.

"Jesus, can't you just fucking leave well enough alone?"

More useless blinking. "I don't... what? Mate, what's the drama? Did something happen?"

The crest broke, and he abruptly shoved it all forward in a literal shove to Chuck's broad chest. The lying motherfucker stumbled away but didn't go down.

More's the pity.

"Drama? You wanna know the fucking drama? How about that I just spent an entire fucking hour weeping over my goddamn dead brother, asshole?" Another shove, because now he was stalking the asshole around the kwoon. "How about that? Is that enough drama for you? Does that count as something happening?"

Most of the wide-eyed confusion went out of the lying motherfucker's face, leaving it awash in sympathy that Raleigh instantly wanted to punch off. He didn't need goddamn sympathy. He needed to _stop feeling like this._

Because it hurt. It fucking hurt as much as the hole right through him where Yancy used to live.

"Oh, don't you fucking pity me, you smug son of a bitch. Just because you had your 'come to Jesus' moment in therapy that let you make up with your father doesn't mean you know jack shit about how the rest of us deal, so never--" Another shove. "-- _ever_ tell me what I should and shouldn't talk about with that fucking useless therapist ever again."

Chuck didn't say anything. Just looked at him with those fucking tragic eyes and all that wasted sympathy, and he _fucking hated it._

"Do you not understand American English, you giant Australian asshole? Fuck off! Leave me alone!"

The lying motherfucker's jaw clenched. _Finally._ "I see you've finally reached the anger stage of the grieving process."

The instant right cross should have leveled the smug jackass, but Chuck had apparently learned from their first fight and ducked out of the way.

"You wanna talk fucking angry?" A left cross that twinged all the way down his protesting spine. It didn't connect, either. "All right, let's talk fucking angry."

Another punch and dodge. "I'm listening."

"Good, because the first motherfucker I'm angry at is _you."_

Fuck, he almost had him with that one. It was close enough that Chuck's eyes widened and the lying motherfucker quickstepped away to keep from cornering himself.

"That's right, Charlie. Right now, I want to beat the ever-loving _fuck_ out of you. I was _fine,_ goddammit! I didn't need to vomit all this emotional poison out and wallow in it." His right knee gave out a warning pop as he planted wrong in an attempt to pivot after his prey. "Do you think I can function like this? Feeling one lung short? Like someone just scooped out the meat of me and left nothing but screaming nerve endings?"

"Raleigh--"

_"I'm not goddamn finished!"_

One of his hands was bleeding through its wrap, and he had no idea how or when or why.

"But you know what? You'll get a fucking laugh out of this, Chuckles, because you're still playing second goddamn fiddle." Was that a wince? "Know why? Because I'm even _more_ pissed at Yancy."

He felt himself slowing, his body failing him as it always seemed to, refusing to keep up with the arrogant prick prancing just out of reach, dodging just enough that his punches missed.

"That's right, asshole. I am fucking _furious_ at that son of a bitch, because he fucking _left me behind!"_ Well, shit, here came the goddamn leaking eyes again, and his voice went harsh and awful as the first few useless tears escaped and ran down his cheeks. "We were supposed to die together or not at all, and everyone else managed that just fucking fine, but that fuck-up somehow managed to die alone and _I fucking hate him for it!_ Okay? Do you hear me, Chuck?"

He couldn't stand that fucking look on the lying motherfucker's face, and he again tried to punch it off. Denied again.

"He was supposed to be smarter than me, goddammit!" He swiped at the useless leakage on his face, dismally aware that he'd just smeared blood over his cheek. "Why the fuck didn't he shoot me down? Why the fuck didn't he say 'No, Rals, our orders are to patrol the Miracle Mile'? He was supposed to be older and fucking wiser, and if he _had_ been, we'd have had some goddamn back-up and he wouldn't have fucking died!"

He tried to throw another punch, but the fury was too great. He felt paralyzed by it, twitching and helpless like he was still in the grips of the feedback from Gipsy's dying relays.

"But I wanted to go after that goddamn boat and he fucking agreed to it, and I fucking hate him for it, and _I fucking hate myself most of all!"_

His knees buckled, and he would have gone down, but that speedy lying motherfucker beat him to it, catching him under the arms as he fell. He struggled with everything he had left, but no one ever said Chuck Hansen was a shitty fighter. All of Raleigh's struggles ended up with him in a full nelson, his heaving back to Chuck's front, their legs sprawled in an ungainly tangle out in front of them.

Exhausted suddenly, he went limp in the nigh-unbreakable grip. Yeah, he might be able to get out, but he'd have to dislocate something to do it, and he already hurt bad enough. Everywhere. All through him.

Gasping and still leaking around the eyes, he wished -- not for the first time and likely not for the last -- that he was dead. That he'd died with Yancy. That he'd fallen off the Wall. That he'd just stayed in Gipsy after he triggered her. Died a bullshit hero instead of living in a goddamn waking nightmare.

At some point, the lying motherfucker leaned his head against Raleigh's, though he wasn't stupid enough to loosen his grip.

"I know you do, mate."

His heart twisted viciously.

"You don't even realize how much it shows to anyone who watches you close enough."

No. He'd hid it too well. No one knew, even Mako. Hell, even _Raleigh_ hadn't realized how deep his guilt and anger and self-loathing had run until just now. Until Chuck forced him to hold it up to the light and watch it squirm and shriek at the immediate burning of exposure.

"Raleigh...." It was barely even a whisper, but the sympathy in that breath of a word was gut-wrenching. "It was bad enough to see it when I didn't know you, mate. I can't sit back and watch you hate yourself now, yeah?"

The red had long since faded from his vision, leaving him fuzzy and disoriented. Worse, now that his body had given out on him, he couldn't keep the fury stoked, and it fizzled out on him, too.

Fucking useless. He was so fucking useless.

"Do you not see it?" A sigh, and that stupid ginger head leaned more heavily against his own. "Mate, you hit the cafeteria like there'll never be food again. If someone goes with you, you do all right, but if you're alone, you load up like you're storing up for an apocalypse."

Tired. He was so tired. It was hard to ignore the lying motherfucker blathering in his ear. Too much energy.

"And then you work yourself to the bone right here in the kwoon. I dunno if you're trying to wear yourself out in hopes of being able to sleep or if you're trying to work off all the food, but it all comes down to the same thing, mate: you're punishing yourself. And I hate seeing it. You don't deserve it, yeah?"

He swallowed hard, too exhausted to shrug out of a grip that had finally loosened enough that he might be able to extricate himself without injury.

"You wear yourself out and still don't sleep, and when you do, you have nightmares that'd have me in a straightjacket. You bottle up anything painful, but you bottle up any good feelings, too, so it's like you don't feel anything." The lying motherfucker turned his head until they leaned cheek-to-cheek, nose-to-nose. "You're so fucking smart, Raleigh, but I've heard you say _Yancy_ was the smart one, _Yancy_ was the talented one, until I want to punch the bloke myself for letting you think you're in any way inferior."

He ached everywhere. He didn't want to hear anymore, but he was wearily afraid he wouldn't even be upright if Chuck weren't holding him up with his goddamn full nelson.

Another sigh. "Dammit, Raleigh, you're the best bloke I ever met, but I've had to watch you box yourself up and try to look small, and it bothered me even before you took care of me whilst I shit all over my sheets and sweat sickness all over you."

_Wait. Wait just a goddamn minute._

He'd only been tangentially paying attention, and only because he was too tired for anything as energetic as ignoring, but, finally, something got through.

"Chuck...." God, his voice sounded like he'd been gargling broken glass. "You really _were_ stalking me, weren't you?"

Just like that, the spell was broken, and the lying prick let him go and lurched to his feet.

"Oi, fuck, I said no and I meant it, ya wanker."

But he sounded flustered as hell. Too tired to jump up after the giant bastard, Raleigh _did_ manage to turn at the waist and glare up at the fidgeting jerk trying to look so casual as he scowled. He waited, narrowing his eyes and remembering what Chuck had said about his sessions sometimes running long because the therapist had to wait him out.

And it fucking _worked._

"Jesus, shut up, yeah? I wasn't stalking you." The big jerk crossed his arms over his chest. "You were ignoring me and it pissed me off, all right? I wanted to know what was so goddamn important that you wouldn't even fucking talk to me."

He kept his eyes narrow and his expression unimpressed. "So you stalked me."

"Fuck off, Ray. You called me a giant Australian asshole."

Incredulous, he managed to climb painfully to his feet, after all. "Like five minutes ago! You've obviously been stalking me for months!"

"Well, somebody had to goddamn look after you! You sure as hell weren't looking out for yourself!"

They were damn near nose-to-nose, probably closer to a fight over this ridiculousness than they had been when Raleigh was at the very pinnacle of his righteous fury. And it didn't matter that every single muscle and joint in his body hurt from both his impromptu workout and all the flailing away he'd done at Chuck; if that smug prick threw a punch, Raleigh was gonna by God feed the brat his own fucking boots.

Thus, he was a bit thrown when the kid scowled, leaned forward, and kissed him.

He was too surprised to react. And it didn't last long. Before he could really make heads or tails of it, Chuck jerked away, eyes wide, and sort of put up his hands like he thought Raleigh would attack him.

Frankly, Raleigh was too tired, too emotionally exhausted, and too goddamn confused to do any such thing.

After a moment's awkward silence, Chuck... straightened, looking less hunted. "Huh." He nodded to himself. "Yeah, I... I reckon that makes sense." He blinked a few times, looking off to one side and apparently thinking really hard about something. "Huh."

Feeling about ten years behind the loop, Raleigh blinked. "Chuck?"

"Hm?"

He was too goddamn tired for this shit. Wasn't he? "What just happened?"

A deep, almost painful-looking blush rose up the kid's throat and settled in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Think I just realized I'm a bit gone on you, mate."

He blinked again. "American translation?"

Almost as if he was talking to himself, Chuck shrugged. "Suppose I shoulda seen it coming, yeah? Always been curious about you, even when I wanted you grounded. Built like a brick shithouse. Great ass, eyes like a goddamn bottomless sea, comfortable as fuck. Smart, strong, heroic. Nicer than I ever fucking deserved from you." His tone was as bland as if he were reading a jaeger engineering manual. "Yeah. Rather shoulda seen this coming."

He couldn't be hearing right. It had been too goddamn long and withering a day to even begin to think he was hearing right. "Chuck... are you saying you... like me?"

"Nah, mate." The short shake of his head brought the kid's attention back to Raleigh. "I'm saying I think I love you, yeah?"

Oh.

Huh.

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "I... don't know what to do with that."

To his surprise, the unpredictable bastard shrugged, unconcerned. "'S all right, mate. Neither do I." Then, out of nowhere, the dimples appeared, bracketing an unexpected grin. "I have the worst fucking timing, don't I?"

He huffed. Then, he chuckled. Then, though he was exhausted beyond belief and he'd pulled at least half the muscles in his body and overworked the other half and his hand was starting to really hurt under the blood-stained wrap, Raleigh laughed.

And Chuck? Chuck just grinned. Fondly. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? I need to see how bad you fucked up your hand."

So, still laughing and too tired to really stop, he let Chuck lead him out of the kwoon and back to his bunk. He had no earthly idea what was happening at this point.

Although, a thought did occur to him just as Chuck shoved him into the shower stall, and he was too tired to have anything like a filter.

"Hey, we didn't fuck up Tendo's bet."

"Oi, really? That's your main concern right now?"

He shrugged and immediately regretted it as both shoulders reminded him what an idiot he was. "Just sayin. Not a fight."

"Raleigh." And there was the unimpressed look he'd come to know so well as the jerk reached past him to crank on the hot water. "Mate, that was a fucking fight. I may not have thrown a single bloody punch, but it was _absolutely_ a fight."

He pondered this as if it held all the meaning in the universe while Chuck pulled the curtain across between them. Finally: "Okay, but not a _hallway_ fight."

The curtain pulled back just enough to reveal Chuck, frowning but not scowling. He opened his mouth, closed it much as Raleigh had done earlier, then grinned a bit. "Y'know? I can't even argue with that."

And, at the sight of that grin, Raleigh remembered that he needed to say something before he lost it forever. "Chuck?"

"Yeah, mate?"

He sighed, meeting the kid's eyes. "I'm sorry I said you were still playing second fiddle."

Chuck's eyes lowered, and he fidgeted with the edge of the curtain. "Eh, you were upset, yeah? Everybody talks shite when they're upset."

"No." He shook his head, forcing himself to meet Chuck's eyes when he glanced up. "That one was meant to hurt. It was just... mean. And I'm sorry for saying it. I shouldn't have. It's not true."

The kid swallowed hard, then nodded. "All right, mate. Accepted."

Some of the weight slipped off his shoulders, and he turned his face up into the spray, glad it gave him an excuse to close his eyes. "Good."

Without another word, Chuck left him to his shower. It wasn't until he reached for the soap that Raleigh saw the bottle of sandalwood-scented shampoo in the shower caddy. He didn't even remember asking for it.

For the first time in hours, he genuinely grinned.


	34. Chapter 34

"Right." Chuck gestured at the bed. "On the edge. Lemme look at that hand."

Too tired to argue, Raleigh sat as indicated, dimly amused when the kid pulled out an honest to God first aid kit and wheeled the rolly chair over to sit directly in front of him.

"Chuck, it's fine. Just a little split skin. The only reason it's still bleeding is because I accidentally got it with the towel and reopened it."

The big jerk cracked open the kit and pulled out alcohol wipes, antibacterial cream, and a small butterfly clip. After eyeing the so-called wound, he added another butterfly clip to his pile of supplies. Admittedly, the split _was_ over a knuckle.

"That's why it's getting disinfected and taped shut, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes but didn't protest further. Chuck was thorough but surprisingly gentle while he blew through alcohol wipes as if he thought Raleigh had stuck his hand into a vat of Kaiju Blue. Clean gauze followed, the kid pressing it firmly until the bleeding stopped for good. After a dab of antibiotic cream, he taped on the little butterfly clips, one above the knuckle and one just below it.

Frowning, Chuck eyed the patch job critically. "Think that should do it. No more big bag until it's healed, though, yeah?"

Sighing -- fondly, he thought, even through the emotional fog he found himself in -- he eyed the big jerk. "You don't have to baby me, Chuck. I'm fine. I'm just tired from a bitch of a day."

Unimpressed, the kid neatly placed everything back in the kit and put it on the desk, throwing the wipes and wrappers away. "You cleaned up my shit, mate. It's just my turn."

He rolled his eyes. "Never letting that one die, I see."

"Seems pertinent to the current situation, is all." Once he'd tidied up, the brat gestured at him. "Now, shirt off, on your stomach."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Now Chuck rolled his eyes. "I texted Mori to ask what's best to do for overworked muscles, and she dropped off this massage oil she concocted to soothe Pentecost's drivesuit trauma. Chau makes it for her. She says it's a special blend, all natural. And he charges extra because she refuses to let him put any kaiju product in it." He snorted. "Anyway, if I learned anything from PT, it's that you gotta soothe and rest overworked muscle or you'll seriously damage it later. So, shirt off, on your stomach."

He was too tired for this shit. That said, he supposed it probably couldn't hurt any worse, so he painfully shrugged off the shirt he'd just wincingly pulled on, then bit back a groan as he tried to lie on his stomach without stretching anything important. Tried and failed, because everything hurt.

"I know, I know. It'll be better soon, mate." The kid put one knee on the bed, then paused. "Oi, wanna watch something whilst I rub this shite in?"

Wishing he could find a position where nothing pulled or ached, he grunted. "Sure. Nothing... complicated, though."

Chuck scooted up the bed until he was in reach of the desk array and scrolled through. "What was that one you said was like a haunted house story, but with a weird serial killer family and comedy instead of ghosts?"

Even his head hurt, at this point, and he slumped. "Fuck if I know." But he did. He just couldn't think straight. "Uh... _The 'Burbs._ Tom Hanks. Dark comedy about suburbia."

The kid had it queued up in no time, then crawled back down the bed. Before Raleigh could decide whether or not to protest, the big jerk straddled the backs of his thighs, sat down on them, and uncorked a dark glass bottle. A strong mint-and-other-stuff scent filled the room, almost eye-wateringly pungent until the air processors toned it down a bit.

"Whew. This must be an old bottle or something." A sniff. "Smells rather nice after that first blast, though, yeah?"

"I guess." Honestly, he was too tired and sore and mentally fried to care. "As long as it works."

"We'll see."

The movie came on, and Chuck poured some of the oil into his hands and rubbed them together. The mixed scent briefly spiked again. Then, the kid leaned forward and ran his hands from Raleigh's lower back up to his shoulders to spread the oil out a bit.

He blinked and shifted a bit. "It tingles."

"Means it's working. Mori said it'd feel cool, then hot, then both at the same time as it really sinks in. It's a bunch of essential oils, I guess. Peppermint and camphor, sandalwood, ginger, that kind of thing." He rubbed his hands together again. "Tell me if anything hurts, yeah?"

If he was honest, the first few minutes hurt like a bitch. Chuck's hands were strong and hard, and Raleigh really had done a number on himself. But as the tingling sensation warmed and those hard hands finally relieved the worst of the tension and started really massaging, Raleigh couldn't help but relax into their press and pull.

The knots in his lower back eased with careful kneading. The ache in his spine lessened under the gentle but firm press of Chuck's thumbs. The stretched, bruised-feeling muscle over his ribs lost the worst of its ache under long strokes out from his spine to his sides. And his shoulders... oh, his shoulders.

Chuck was relentless, tireless, and his hands might very well be magic. Or the oil was. Either way, by the time the kid started really digging into his shoulders, Raleigh couldn't hold back the occasional moan as his muscles unclenched one by one. It was glorious. It was a miracle.

He hadn't watched a single second of the movie. At this point, he wasn't even sure Chuck had turned it on. Maybe they'd watch it again later.

Fuck if he cared right now with the kid pressing his thumbs up the looser muscle in his neck and up into his hair. His entire back tingled on the surface but felt warm and loose all the way to the bone. Not that he felt like he had bones anymore. He was pretty sure they'd melted under Chuck's relentless care.

Moaning as those miraculous thumbs pressed up the back of his neck again, he let his eyes close and floated. "Fuck me." He drew it out, a tired exclamation rather than an invitation, though he should probably watch what he said from now on. "How'd you learn to do this?"

"Paid attention in PT." The kid leaned back, then gave a long, steady stroke with both hands up Raleigh's spine, flaring his hands over the shoulders and kneading them again. It was bliss. "What, you didn't get a masseuse assigned to you back in the day?"

Despite his floaty state of utter relaxation, he snorted. "Not _this_ kind of masseuse."

"Oi!"

"You asked."

A grunt. "I rescind the question."

But the miraculous bastard kept rubbing and kneading, stroking and massaging, and it suddenly occurred to Raleigh that something of some importance had happened earlier, and it had just sort of... slid right past him. And Chuck had let it.

"Chuck?"

"Mm?" Uuuup the spine, over the shoulders. Uuuup the spine, over the shoulders.

Blinking his eyes open, Raleigh frowned a bit. "Did you say you loved me earlier?"

The glorious massage paused for a split second. "Yeah...?"

He blinked. "Oh."

They were quiet for a long moment, Chuck not letting up on the massage, though his hands and arms had to be getting tired by now.

Finally: "I know it's not the right time for it, mate. Don't put too much thought to it, yeah?"

His frown deepened, even as his body floated on a comfortable cloud. "I just... why me?" Another infinitesimal pause, so he hurried on. "I mean, there's everybody else in the world, Chuck. You can have anyone you want. Don't...." He swallowed, turning his face a bit more into the pillow now that he could because his neck didn't feel made from burning stone and broken glass. "You can do so much better, kid."

A snort and a gentle prod to his shoulder. "Sure, I can. Because there's a million blokes who saved the goddamn world, including me personally, several times over and know random shit about wars and pop culture and weird books no one else has ever heard of. Who'll put up with my clingy ass when I'm sick and my bullshit when I'm better. Who'll read me to sleep and let me use them as a body pillow, even when I'm an argumentative prick."

He had no idea what to say to that kind of onslaught. He hadn't thought he was being... outstanding?... in any way. He'd just... done what he always did: what needed to be done.

Right?

The gentle massage picked up again, lighter than before, and he tried to put it out of his mind. It might not be fair to Chuck, but Raleigh just couldn't deal with such a huge, foreign concept right now. And it could just be the situation, right? That Raleigh had caught the kid at a vulnerable moment, and now the poor guy was confusing gratitude with affection?

Then, out of nowhere, his mouth started talking without his permission. Because Chuck had wanted him to go to therapy, and Raleigh didn't want him to think it had been a complete fuckarow, even though it basically had been.

"My therapist...."

The more gentle backrub paused again, barely enough to notice. It was enough, however, to prove the kid was listening.

"He wants me to do some homework before the regular Monday session."

"Yeah?"

If he weren't so tired or so blissed out from the thorough, dedicated rubdown he was still enjoying, he'd have tensed up. "He wants me to think about any good things Yancy said to me. To write them down." He swallowed hard. "He thinks I think Yancy hates me, I guess."

Chuck's voice was about as neutral and non-confrontational as it got. "Do you?"

Of course the big jerk wouldn't let him off the hook. Sighing, he closed his eyes. "I dunno. Maybe." But he was too tired for a filter, too tired to be anything but honest. "He should."

Those big, warm hands settled about halfway down his back, and the kid slumped and sighed. "Raleigh...."

"I failed him." Why did he say anything? Why couldn't he just keep his stupid mouth shut? "I failed him, and he died because of it. He _should_ hate me."

Silence. He wanted to crawl up inside it and hide.

"Bullshit."

He blinked his eyes open. "I'm... sorry?"

The kid shifted to kneel instead of sitting on Raleigh's thighs. "Oi, turn over. I'm saying this to your face, ya ratbag."

Was he too tired to get angry again? Because he might be getting angry again. He certainly grumbled as he shoved up and over, though he couldn't help but appreciate the fact that he could, and with only a minimum of strain. And that was mostly in his chest, abs, and legs because Chuck hadn't rubbed them down.

Probably shouldn't have thought of it like that.

But he made it over to his back -- ignoring the fact that he'd be smelling camphor and mint and a bunch of other shit he couldn't identify in his sheets until he stripped the bed -- and glared up at the big jerk glaring back down at him with equal irritation.

"Right. That's one hundred percent bullshit, mate."

His jaw clenched. "Do explain."

"Gladly." The asshole had the sack to actually hold up a finger in count. "First, you didn't fail anybody. He was yanked out of the bloody conn pod. You couldn't have prevented that. They'd never gone for the conn pod before, so it's not like you could have known it would. Even I acknowledged that, and I was fucking _furious_ at you for leaving." Another finger. "Second, he was an adult fully capable of making his own decisions. He knew the risks, Ray, and he still suited up just like anyone else. You may feel like you'll live forever when you're striding about in a jaeger, mate, but I guarantee he knew, just like I did, just like my old man did, just like _you_ did, that it could all go wrong any time."

He opened his mouth to protest, but another finger went up and Chuck's glare deepened.

"Third, you managed to kill a kaiju whilst piloting solo and get your jaeger back to shore. Alone. After losing your goddamn brother right out of your head. Out of your _soul._ How could that ever be defined as failure?"

...Fuck. He didn't have a ready argument for that one. He knew there was one. He was just too tired to think of it. Irritated, he gritted his teeth.

Unfortunately, the kid softened, slumping until he sat on Raleigh's thighs and letting his counting hand fall. "Raleigh... it wasn't your fault. He doesn't hate you. He's your _brother,_ mate."

He felt his eyes prickle and tried to shove it all away. He didn't want to cry anymore today. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and he really just wanted to sleep until none of this mattered anymore.

But Chuck looked at him like Raleigh was breaking apart right in front of him, so he had to say _something._

He sighed. "He used to say I was a good dancer."

The confused surprise on the big jerk's face was priceless. The kid looked completely broadsided. Diversion approved. He grinned crookedly.

Better still, though he was clearly still thrown, Chuck grinned a bit, too. "Were you?"

To his surprise, he almost laughed. "Fuck no."

And Chuck _did_ laugh, and for a moment, everything was okay again.

His grin went wry. "I just looked less like a drunk, electrocuted sloth than he did."

Another bark of a laugh, and the big jerk scooted off him to lay down between him and the wall. "Jesus, Ray. I have no idea what that would look like, but I kinda get it anyway."

They were quiet a minute, and Raleigh realized he could hear the movie still playing in the background. Chuck had apparently turned the volume down before starting it. The kid had probably thought he'd would conk out halfway through, and honestly, he probably should have. A line from an old song occurred to him: S _ometimes I feel like I been tied to the whippin' post._

"You gonna write that one down?"

His eyebrows rose and he shot the kid a questioning look.

"For your therapist."

Oh. Right.

Sighing, he shrugged. "I guess I should." He managed a wry grin. "I doubt he'll think it's as funny as you did, though."

The dimples appeared on either side of a slow grin. "Our little secret, yeah?"

His stomach... did something. He didn't want to think too much about what. He wasn't anywhere near ready to think about...Chuck. About feelings. About what he should do. He just... couldn't. Not right now.

And Chuck saw it, or knew it already, because he didn't press the issue. "Can you eat? I'm thinking leftovers."

Grateful for the reprieve, he considered, then shrugged. "I could probably eat something, yeah. I didn't think you'd want cold leftovers, though."

The kid looked confused for a second, then grinned. "Right, you didn't notice. Your microwave was delivered whilst you were out, yeah?"

He blinked, then grinned in return. "Nice. Leftovers, then."

He started to get up, but Chuck sat up faster and pressed a hand to Raleigh's chest. It was a casual gesture. The kid probably just forgot he wasn't wearing a shirt.

Big hand. Strong. Warm against his bare skin. A different sort of pressure than the deliberate massage of his back.

"Oi, stay put, yeah? I got this."

Apparently, Chuck didn't notice anything unusual, because he crawled over Raleigh's unresisting body and out of bed, heading for the handy counter set-up without so much as a look back.

Did it mean anything? Did it really feel different, or was it just weird because Chuck thought he was in love now, which might make it mean something it wouldn't any other time? Or was it just the bare skin thing? Other than Chuck's naked phase while he went through the sweats and chills, they'd both been fully clothed for all their physical contact, which, as far as he knew, had just been platonic cuddles. Or was it just that Raleigh wasn't wearing a shirt, and he'd always been the fully clothed one?

He was pretty sure Chuck hadn't checked him out while helping him into the shower. He'd been out of it -- still was, if he was honest -- but he thought he would have noticed.

So... it was probably nothing. He probably only noticed because he wasn't used to skin-on-skin. It _had_ been a long time, after all, even just for casual touch.

Not sure if he was relieved or not, he reached for his t-shirt -- again grateful to have _any_ range of movement after the horrible ache and strain earlier -- and sat up just enough to pull it on. It would smell like camphor, but he didn't mind, and it didn't seem like Chuck did, either.

And when the kid came back with bonafide plates piled with steaming Chinese takeout tidbits, Raleigh just sat up and scooted back against the wall so Chuck could do the same. They settled, as comfortable as ever, and, without having to talk about it, started the movie over.

This time, they actually watched it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, the massage oil contains the following essential oils in a carrier oil: peppermint, wintergreen, camphor, sandalwood, juniper berry, and ginger. If essential oils didn't cost the world (especially sandalwood, which is OF COURSE my favorite), I'd make this stuff all the time. It's _miraculous_.


	35. Chapter 35

Raleigh didn't remember falling asleep. He _did_ remember admitting he had no idea if the suburbs really were full of people obsessed with mowing their lawns and spying on their neighbors because he'd never lived in the suburbs. If he remembered right, he even managed to explain that there was probably a kernel of truth surrounded by a lot of exaggeration, since that's how that particular kind of comedy worked in film. He for sure remembered polishing off the last potsticker when Chuck slid it from his plate to Raleigh's, claiming he was full.

But he didn't remember the end of the movie, and he didn't remember the dishes being washed, and he most definitely didn't remember climbing under the heavy layers of covers and snuggling up together with Chuck. Not that he was complaining. He was comfortable as fuck. Even being octopus-cuddled.

The only problem, of course, was the not-so-little matter of the morning wood riding up against his ass yet again.

Squirming away was clearly not an option. He really did try to learn from past mistakes. He could, of course, ignore it until it went away, but... after yesterday's shitstorm and revelation, it seemed to have a whole different dimension. To mean something else.

_Idiot. It's a biological function._

Yes. He heard the deadpan explanation in Chuck's voice. And grinned a bit.

Oh. Right. Boner.

Then again... maybe it was... okay? If Chuck had some weird kind of crush, he might be embarrassed if Raleigh brought attention to what really was just a biological function. Not that the kid had shown any kind of shame with his announcement. Or his apparent appreciation for Raleigh's ass.

Which his hard-on was cozied up to.

Was it... maybe... flattering? Because Raleigh was starting to feel kind of flattered, thinking how the big jerk had described him. Something about a great ass and bottomless ocean eyes.

And he was pretty damn comfortable snuggled up tight against that broad, warm body. So maybe he was... okay with it. With a hard-on thrumming against one buttcheek and Chuck's thick thigh sort of wedged between his own.

At some point, he knew he'd have to think about how he felt. It was all well and good to just let it ride, as it were. To see if maybe Chuck would get over what was surely just a crush and go back to being a snuggle buddy so they could both get a good night's sleep. He couldn't let it go on forever. It wasn't fair to either of them.

But for now, it was... nice. To stay cuddled close. To feel the warmth and strength of a man -- this particular man -- at his back. To think it might be okay for that morning wood to have something to do with him instead of just being a biological function.

So he stayed, not ignoring the sensation but trying to get over the weirdness of it and just... be used to it. Whether Chuck really wanted him or not, they definitely slept better in company, so this would probably be a regular occurrence. It'd be stupid to freak out about it every single time. Hell, at some point, he'd probably pop a boner himself, and wouldn't Chuck have a field day with that?

Speaking of Chuck, the kid sighed in his sleep and pressed his face against the nape of Raleigh's neck. Inhaled deeply with his nose in Raleigh's hair. Hmmed softly and... nuzzled him.

He blushed. He couldn't help it. He was pretty sure Chuck had just sniffed him, and the erection thrumming away against his ass definitely twitched with it.

Wait. Had he... now that he thought of it, he was pretty sure he _hadn't_ asked Chuck about the shampoo. And the kid had just sniffed and nuzzled him. Had... Jesus, had Chuck brought his shampoo over to Raleigh's room because he liked the way it smelled on him?

Blushing harder, he couldn't stop a bit of a squirm at the idea, and the kid groaned and tightened his grip, burying his face against him.

"Fuck, mate, I swear you do that shit on purpose."

"Sorry!" Reminding himself not to make things more complicated, he held himself very still. "Go back to sleep. I just... uh... need to take a piss."

"Mmhm. Fucking tiny bladder."

Thankfully, despite the sleep-bitching, the octopus grip loosened enough for Raleigh to escape without too much wriggling, and he crawled over the near-comatose body and out of bed to practically run to the bathroom. He wasn't even sure why he was so embarrassed.

He needed to get his shit together. He was acting more like a goddamn kid than Chuck ever had. Good grief, the Becket brothers had been well known for their appreciation of a good roll in the hay. He was no blushing virgin. And he hadn't been blushy even when he _had_ been a virgin.

Standing in front of the toilet and trying to take a leak for honesty's sake, he tried to analyze why the concept of Chuck liking the scent of his shampoo on Raleigh had made him so squirmy. He couldn't blame it on being mentally and emotionally exhausted because he actually felt pretty well-rested at the moment. Yeah, he'd probably fall back to sleep once the Australian Quaalude got ahold of him again, but he didn't feel as ragged and deprived as he usually felt upon waking in the wee hours of the morning. As he'd expected to feel after yesterday's emotional fuckarow.

And then it struck him.

It made him squirm because it was... _proof._ Proof that Chuck really _was_ attracted to him and had been for a while without even knowing. Because, as he blinked in the closed-bathroom darkness with his dick in his hand and his mind whirling, he was pretty sure the kid hadn't had his realization when he went to his bunk and brought his own shampoo back. Sure, Chuck might have brought it for himself, but... the sniffing. The nuzzling.

The hard-on twitch.

Jesus. What if Chuck Hansen meant what he said? That he thought he was in love with Raleigh Has-Been Becket? What the fuck did he even do with that?

Was... was he attracted back?

Did that matter when he was clearly too fucked up to have anything resembling a relationship? Because even Chuck admitted that this wasn't the time.

Frustrated -- both with the run of his thoughts and the fact that he felt further from taking a piss than he ever had -- he tucked his dick away and washed his hands and headed back into the bedroom. There, he paused before climbing back into bed and just... looked.

Not much of Chuck could be seen, honestly, and not just because it was mostly dark in the room. A messy fluff of ginger hair and the dimly lit curve of one freckled cheek was visible enough, but everything else -- the smooth outline of shoulder and hip and leg -- was muted under the pile of blankets. A small grin tugged at his mouth. He felt... fond. Definitely fond.

Was that enough? He didn't know. The fondness was of such recent vintage that he didn't know if he could trust it. What if they tried this thing and fucked it up and the weirdly polite Cold War they'd waged after Pitfall came back? He didn't want that. He'd been... God, _so alone_ that whole time. Since... since Knifehead, really. Since leaving the PPDC and everything it made him remember behind. He hadn't even known, but he could admit the hell out of it now.

Sure, he'd had Mako, at least recently, but Mako had the rest of the world. She... hadn't isolated herself. Hadn't thought herself useless now that her sole purpose had been achieved.

Like Raleigh had.

Like Chuck had, perhaps? Admittedly, the kid had volunteered to pick through scrap in the jaeger bay, but had that been a "purpose" or just something to do to fill time? None of the other techs had been by to check on him, so he clearly hadn't really connected with any of them on a personal level. It had been Mako and Herc and even Raleigh -- definitely a last resort -- who'd taken care of him at his lowest point.

Had Chuck been lonely that whole time? As lonely as Raleigh had been?

Was that maybe why the kid had sort of passively stalked him? Why they'd connected so strongly during the poor guy's illness and the constant company it had necessitated?

Was _that_ enough?

Frowning a bit, he crawled over the kid's bulk and squirmed back under the covers. After a short internal debate, he scooted forward, cuddled up against that warm, solid, comforting body, and smooshed his face against the kid's neck just under his jaw. Sandalwood.

No. Sandalwood and Chuck. Which was better.

The morning wood hadn't gone away, but Raleigh didn't shy away from it. In fact, as the kid's octopus tendencies took over and all those heavy limbs pulled him in tighter, he let himself be cuddled close, even when it put that thrumming heat flush with his own groin. Chuck hmmed in his sleep and buried his nose in Raleigh's hair, hands absently stroking up and down his back.

He grinned again. Fondly. "Did I mention that I like your shampoo? Because I like your shampoo."

His tone was low enough that if the poor guy was actually asleep, he wouldn't wake him up. He should have known better. The kid took another good sniff and hmmed again.

"Probably a good thing, mate. I'm not changing it."

Still grinning, Raleigh worked his arms around the brat, which was surprisingly tricky because Chuck wouldn't loosen his grip. When he settled, they were quiet for a long moment, and, sure enough, he felt himself drowsing off again. He didn't fight it. He was too goddamn comfortable.

"It didn't smell right."

The kid's voice was as low as Raleigh's had been earlier. As if he didn't want to wake him if he was already back to sleep.

"Hm?"

Sighing, Chuck smoothed one hand up to settle between Raleigh's shoulder blades. "When I couldn't sleep. Everything smelled like sandalwood. My shirt, the pillows, the blankets... but... it wasn't the _right_ sandalwood. And I couldn't sleep because it wasn't _right."_

He blinked his eyes open, feeling his eyelashes brush Chuck's skin as he did so. He wondered if Chuck felt it, too.

"Kinda pissed me off, honestly."

He snorted and pressed closer still.

"So I got up and snuck in here and after the whole nightmare thing...." The kid sighed and ran that heavy hand further up to the nape of Raleigh's neck, fingers stroking up into his hair. "This. Right here. _This_ is the right sandalwood."

Well, fuck. He couldn't even begin to understand the warmth that washed through him at the thought. Swallowing hard, he nuzzled against Chuck's throat. Sandalwood. Sandalwood and _Chuck._

Maybe he understood, after all.

"Chuck Hansen, you are a closet romantic."

The big jerk snorted, though he didn't stop stroking his fingers over the base of Raleigh's skull. "Fuck that, mate. I couldn't sleep and was pissed about it. Nothing romantic in that, yeah?"

Smirking, he tried to sound put out. "Jesus, kid, just take a compliment. And you think _I'm_ stubborn."

Before Chuck could argue further, Raleigh cheated. And possibly skipped a few steps. Reaching down between them, he cupped his hand around the erection still thrumming away under the flannel of Chuck's pajama pants. The kid sucked in a harsh gasp and arched into the touch.

"Fuck, Ral-- hn!"

The comment cut off on a groan as Raleigh couldn't resist giving an actual stroke. The immediate twitch and swell in his hand was... addictive. Hmming to himself, he gave another slow, tight stroke.

"Raleigh... fuck, that's not helping it go away, yeah?"

He grinned, brushing his mouth against the warm skin of the kid's throat. "Well... not _yet,_ anyway. Give it time."

Chuck groaned, caught between amused and aroused, the hand on Raleigh's neck tightening, all those octopus limbs tightening. No protest, though.

His grin turned to a smirk, and he stretched up to nuzzle against the kid's cheek, his lips brushing the corner of Chuck's mouth. Not quite a kiss. More... an invitation.

"Not... hn... not worried about morning breath, mate?"

He liked how strained Chuck's voice sounded, especially since the kid was clearly trying to sound nonchalant. "Morning wood first. Morning breath second." He smirked again at the groaning laugh. "Gotta have priorities."

"Jesus, Ray."

It was strangely easy to shift his grip from over the flannel to under it, and while Raleigh had spent plenty of time with his hand on his own dick over the years -- he hadn't been with anyone since before Knifehead, but he wasn't _dead_ \-- the satiny skin stretched over the thickness of Chuck's cock felt completely different. None of his rare encounters with men before had gone so far as under the clothes, and he was distantly glad for that.

It felt... right, somehow. This particular cock felt like it belonged in his hand. The kid responded to his every touch, every stroke, every change in pressure.

And when Chuck turned his head just enough to brush their lips together, how could Raleigh's body not respond? Groaning, he shifted his hips, wanting to press against something, _needing_ to.

Sighing, Chuck genuinely kissed him and stroked the hand not clutching Raleigh's nape down to his lower back, where it pulled him close, then stroked lower still over the curve of his ass. Groaning, the kid tightened his grip and slid his thigh between Raleigh's legs to give him something to thrust against. And oh, sweet mercy, did he thrust.

"Jesus... Raleigh, I... fuck, mate, _more...."_

He groaned into Chuck's mouth and nudged him over onto his back. He was dimly surprised when the kid went without a protest, but he was too busy being borderline overwhelmed by sensory input to really dwell on it. Breaking away from the steadily deeper kisses to lick his hand, he ground down on Chuck's thick thigh, then went right back to stroking that beautiful cock like it was his sole mission in life. His new purpose, as it were.

Hell, maybe it even was. Certainly felt like it when Chuck used both hands to shove Raleigh's pajama pants down enough to bare his ass, taking both cheeks in a firm, possessive grip and urging him to speed up.

Maybe it had been too long for both of them, because it seemed like no time at all before Raleigh felt that glorious pull deep in his gut. Desperate for it, desperate for Chuck to feel the same way, he thrust harder, stroked faster, kissed and murmured until they both panted and groaned and clung together.

"Chuck... Chuck, please...."

Whimpering -- _whimpering!_ \-- the kid slid one hand inward, stroking a single finger down the crack. The sensation as that lone finger touched him _there,_ where no one had ever touched him, sent Raleigh shuddering off the edge of the world, ruining Chuck's pants and not caring one iota. Either the promise of that touch or the feeling of Raleigh coming against him had Chuck crying out and arching, too, and the slide of his hand was suddenly much easier.

"Fuck... fuck... Raleigh, don't stop... _fuck...."_

He didn't. Couldn't. Oversensitive and incredibly aware of that finger still stroking around puckered skin that he would have never guessed was so goddamn sensitive, he rode the crest of his orgasm much longer than he'd ever done alone. And while he gentled his grip as best he could on that now-slick cock, he didn't stop stroking it until Chuck shuddered and murmured that it was too much.

Slowly, gasping and panting, they collapsed together, sweaty under the heavy pile of blankets and a mess between them and... together. For better or worse, Raleigh figured this meant they were trying this thing. Being together.

He didn't know if it was love. He didn't know if he could be what Chuck wanted. But he was gonna by God try.

Then, Chuck huffed against his neck.

Tired and pleasantly muddled, Raleigh didn't even bother lifting away to make sure it was an almost-laugh. The best he could do was a muffled, "Hmph?"

"Hn." That was definitely a pleased sound. Low and throaty and amused. "Shoulda known you'd be a sucker for romance, mate."

He snorted, surprising himself, then deliberately squirmed until they both shivered, too sensitive yet for any shenanigans. "Maybe later. I've never given a blowjob before."

Chuck's cock, even in its current spent state, gave a twitch, and the kid groaned. "Jesus, Raleigh."

"You started it."

"Oi, fuck, go back to sleep, yeah? I'm too bloody tired to argue."

But he grinned, though he felt much the same way, because he... sorta... liked the bickering. It reminded him suddenly of Westley and Buttercup -- from the book, not the movie. It reminded him how he'd always thought that real couples almost _had_ to bicker, that it showed they actually listened to each other, even if they disagreed on what they heard. That it was okay because they cared enough to stay together anyway.

It also reminded him of reading the book out loud for hours, of Chuck -- tired and sick and vulnerable -- choosing to cling to him instead of anyone else, and he again felt an inexplicable warmth.

"We need to clean up." Another squirm, absolutely on purpose and designed to incite at least a little bitching. "And maybe change clothes."

Another groan, this one with an adorable hint of a whine. "Don't wanna."

"Chuuuuck...."

"Ugh, Jesus, fine."

It took both of them to throw off the pile of blankets without getting cum everywhere, but soon enough -- and with many a lingering, casual touch and a few secret, knowing smirks -- they'd cleaned up and changed into fresh pajamas and remade the bed and climbed back in under the covers, Chuck's front to Raleigh's back. Octopus mode fully engaged.

And for the first time in years, Raleigh found himself looking forward to the rest of the day. Whatever it held. Grinning, he drifted off to sleep in the inescapable grip of the rare and elusive Great Australian Octopus.


	36. Chapter 36

They did finally wake up for good, but only because Chuck's stomach growled ridiculously loudly, rousing them both. Raleigh's whole body felt both sore and amazing as he stretched, and it suddenly struck him that they had, for all intents and purposes, had sex sometime in the night. Sure, there hadn't been any intercourse, but they'd both come with their hands all over each other, and he was pretty sure that counted.

And, just like that, he suddenly felt shy. It had been a long time. What the hell did they do now? How much of a conversation did they need to have?

How much was he overthinking this? Maybe they'd just needed to scratch the itch, and now Chuck would move on to--

"Mmm." A warm hand stroked up his stomach under his t-shirt. "I'm very tempted to ignore my stomach right now and pay one fuck of a lot more attention to yours."

Before Raleigh could even begin to decide how to respond to that, the kid's stomach let out another tormented howl. Taking the unintended diversion as the godsend it probably wasn't, he grinned nervously and tossed off the blankets to clamber gracelessly over that big body and off the edge of the bed.

"Good thing we brought stuff back yesterday. What sounds good, a bagel or one of these weird cherry Danishes?"

Chuck didn't answer, and Raleigh internally cursed as the kid climbed out of bed with far more grace than he had managed.

He forced a chuckle. "I don't care how good a cuddler you are, Chuck, you're not getting my other cheese Danish."

"Raleigh?"

Jesus. Somehow, the kid had snuck up right behind him like a goddamn ninja, and he couldn't help the jump and spin that left him staring at the kid, wide-eyed and guilty.

"Fuck, mate, we've gone too fast, haven't we? You don't... we can slow it down, yeah? I know you're not ready for--"

"No, no!" Because the kid looked guilty as fuck, too, and that wouldn't do at all. "Chuck, it's... yes, it's fast, but I _wanted..._ I mean, if you--"

"Stop."

It wasn't a command, but it stopped him as if it was. Chuck looked very serious, which was a shame, considering how promising this day had looked before they fell asleep again and Raleigh, of course, fucked it up.

"I've spent most of my life not being able to communicate with my old man, and we're not gonna do that, yeah?"

Raleigh swallowed hard but nodded.

"Good. Now, I already admitted my timing is for shit, mate, but if you're in, I'm in. If you're not ready to be in yet, I'm okay with that, yeah? I can wait." Yes, the kid was serious, but he also looked so heartbreakingly earnest with those big grey eyes and not a dimple in sight. "We can take this as slow as you need to, Raleigh. I mean that."

He took a deep breath and tried to get his shit together. Chuck was right. This was too important to leave to a misunderstanding because he was too fucked up to say what he fucking meant. So he forced himself to hold that changeable gaze while he spoke as openly as he could.

"I like you, Chuck." A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth but didn't quite make it. "I don't think I knew how alone I was until now, but... that's not why I like you. You like it when I read to you. You like my depressing haunted house movies. You... Chuck, you make me feel like I'm... I dunno... good company. Does that sound stupid?"

Still looking so serious and careful, Chuck shook his head.

"I don't...." His eyes lowered, but he forced them back up again. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm ready for. I'm so fucked up, Chuck. I'm not sure I even knew how bad until I started spending all my time around someone and _talking_ about things. Seeing how many fucked up things I do just to get myself through the day. I just...." Sighing, he lowered his head. "There's no easy fix for me, okay? I... almost... wanna get as much as I can out of this before you realize I'm too much trouble and we go back to not talking to each other."

It was Chuck's turn to swallow hard. "Not gonna happen, mate."

"You don't know that--"

"And neither do you. Fuck, we of all people know nothing's set. A new Breach could open up tomorrow and make this whole bloody conversation moot, yeah? We don't know."

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter but couldn't quite raise his gaze. "That's not the point."

"That _is_ the point." The kid stepped closer, all mussed hair and morning breath and broad chest and generally looking morning-after as fuck. "There's no point in rushing into something just because we may not get to keep it, yeah? If we're not ready for it, we'll lose it anyway."

Sighing, he finally looked up, and... yeah. Chuck looked amazing the morning after. Freckled and messy and standing just a little more... something. Leaning in, almost, where he would normally stand military straight.

"What do you want from me, Chuck?"

One corner of the kid's mouth quirked up, and a dimple made an appearance. "Just you, mate. For as long as you'll have me. And I'll wait as long as it takes, because I don't wanna fuck this up." The dimple disappeared. "I don't want to go back to being alone, mate. Not when we've got on so well."

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, frowned and closed it again. He had no idea what to say. It felt like there wasn't a right thing to say that wouldn't ruin what Chuck had just said.

After a quiet moment, the kid hesitantly reached out with both hands and laid them lightly on Raleigh's shoulders. "Let's try something, yeah?"

He nodded dumbly, still half-afraid he'd stick his foot in his mouth.

"What say we just... do what we've been doing? We've been doing all right, yeah?"

Another nod, this one more confident. Chuck's fingers squeezed gently.

"So we just keep... spending time together. What the fuck do we care about labels or steps to a relationship or whatever?" The kid's grin looked a little forced, but the intent was clearly sincere. "We wanna make out whilst watching a movie? Who says we can't? We just wanna fall asleep in a pile? Fuck it, we sleep in a pile. I got therapy, you got therapy. I got jaeger scrap, you got flight lessons. Otherwise, if we wanna be together, we're by God together."

That... didn't sound so bad. It wasn't like Raleigh had been the king of relationships before. The last one had been Naomi, and if that hadn't been a clusterfuck that had nearly cost him his own brother....

Chuck was right. What did they care about how relationships were supposed to go?

He smiled a little. "Just... make it up as we go along?"

This grin looked much more natural. "Why not? Not like we've got to impress anyone, yeah? Think we've earned the right to do as we goddamn please."

He considered this, poking at it from all angles, looking for a flaw in the logic. If they didn't treat it like a usual, expected relationship, maybe they wouldn't fall into any of the usual fuck-ups. They'd just be... together. Like last night, when Raleigh had been so clear on what he wanted.

Slowly, careful of his words even now, he nodded. "So we just... movies? And video games? And War?"

The grin widened, and both dimples came out in full force. "And you reading to me because your voice is smooth as fuck."

"And cuddling."

"Definitely cuddling."

Blushing a bit, he raised a single eyebrow. "And... together?"

He could tell by the gleam in the big jerk's eyes that he was fighting desperately not to smirk or waggle his eyebrows or do anything salacious. It was adorable.

But Chuck was determined. "Only what we're comfortable with, yeah? Got nothing but time, mate."

It sounded... good, actually. Like something just enough low-pressure that he might actually be able to live up to it without fucking it up completely.

So he nodded and reached out to tug at the brat's t-shirt a bit, urging him to step closer. Chuck obliged, those big hands sliding down Raleigh's arms, then letting go entirely to lean against the counter behind him. It brought him very close, indeed, but he didn't push anything into that closeness.

"So... do we tell anyone?"

Chuck shrugged, those bright eyes so close Raleigh could make out flecks of blue and green in them. "Don't see why. No one's business but ours, yeah?" But he blinked and frowned a bit. "Well... might want to tell our therapists. I dunno how it'll affect treatment."

But it probably would, so Raleigh nodded without argument. "And if people guess?"

Another shrug. "We're not hiding anything, mate. Just... this is ours, yeah? It'll come out sooner or later, anyway, so why make a big announcement? We're making it up as we go along, so it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."

And, because it really did sound too good to be true, he tried one last saving throw. He couldn't quite manage a grin while he did it, though.

"And when I have another day like yesterday?"

Because he had straight up attacked the poor guy, both verbally and physically. And apologizing for the worst thing he'd said didn't mean he hadn't said it. Or any of the other shit he'd spewed while he felt ripped open inside. Him being fucked up didn't excuse him taking it out on Chuck.

And that strong jaw tightened. Because Chuck knew that as well as Raleigh did.

"Still got plenty of massage oil in the bottle, mate."

His head lowered. "Chuck, that's not what I--"

"Raleigh, stop." Big, warm hands settled on his upper arms, not quite gripping him. "I'm not gonna say there won't be any more days like yesterday, yeah? You said it yourself, mate; there's no easy fix. Fuck, you've seen me and Dad tiptoe around each other, yeah? And that's with me really trying."

Sighing, he leaned forward until his forehead rested on that broad chest. "I was so damn mean, Chuck. I don't want... you don't deserve that."

Chuck huffed, one hand sliding up to thread fingers into Raleigh's hair. "You say that like I'm never gonna talk shite to you again."

A snort caught him offguard. Right. Because not so long ago, Chuck had called him a bitch and a has-been and threatened to drop him like a sack of kaiju shit and yet, here they were.

It seemed like so long ago.

And Chuck must have sensed his last resistance fading away. "So... tea?"

He nodded, his forehead rocking against the kid's collarbones until he sighed and stood away. Chuck let him go and busied himself with making them each a cup of tea. Raleigh went back to picking through their breakfast loot from the prior morning, settling on an almond bearclaw for Chuck, since he hadn't voiced a preference but Raleigh was pretty sure _he_ hadn't picked that one out, so Chuck must have.

Oddly enough, he found himself thinking about Yancy and... grinning. A rare and beautiful thing, indeed. And he needed to share that with Chuck right now, because if anyone would understand why it felt like the sun coming out after a black signal storm, Chuck would.

"I really should make you my special recipe French toast sometime." The grin stayed, but he felt his throat try to close up and fought to keep his tone light. "Yancy loved it. Said even Mom couldn't make it better."

He felt more than saw the glance the kid shot him and relaxed when no hint of pity or even concern colored the familiar voice.

"That one going on the list, too?"

God, that felt good. To be understood without having to explain. To know Chuck understood what he couldn't say.

So he swallowed hard and kept grinning as he nodded. "I think it will."

"Mm." A steaming mug appeared under his nose. "You do realize that if I like it, you're gonna have to have an actual stove installed, yeah? Because I'm gonna be a demanding fuck if it turns out anything like your soup."

Feeling surprisingly good about the morning, he took the mug and handed over the bearclaw. "You? A demanding fuck? I never would have guessed."

"Oi!" Far from annoyed, the kid tried to look so for form's sake as he snatched the pastry out of Raleigh's hand. "When have I ever been demanding?"

"Uh, every time you want headrubs."

"I was sick! You're really gonna hold that against me?"

"Just sayin. Demanding."

"Fuck you, Becket. Everybody's demanding about headrubs."

And as they continued to bicker, Raleigh could only smile. Maybe it was finally time to remember how to be optimistic. Because this?

This felt like it might be a good thing.


	37. Chapter 37

By the time they finished bickering and settled down to watch a movie -- _The 'Burbs_ yet again, since Chuck admitted he hadn't made it much longer than Raleigh had; the last thing he remembered was Art chanting "Satan is good, Satan is our pal" in the basement -- it was almost lunchtime. They weren't in a hurry, though, so they started it back from the beginning rather than just picking up where Chuck had turned it off.

Thus, when they finally decided to put on real clothes for lunch -- which meant Chuck would have to stop by his own room because he'd only brought pajamas -- they both assumed the cafeteria would be practically empty. And it was, because when they met up at their corner table after filling their trays, the last three techs were just leaving. Even the kitchen staff, again thrilled to see them both looking so hale and hearty, was down to the afternoon skeleton crew, which mostly worked clean-up until time to start supper prep.

So it was a little surprising when Herc and Mako both strolled in, engrossed in conversation until they glanced around and saw Raleigh and Chuck hiding in the corner. Herc brightened and waved, then gestured at the counter, while Mako just smiled at them and kept walking.

"Wonder what they've been up to." Chuck sounded suspicious but looked amused. "It's late for lunch, yeah?"

Raleigh hid a smirk. "Maybe they made out in the wee hours this morning, slept in, had the Big Talk, and watched a movie."

The kid gaped at him, caught between appalled and incredulous. "That is so fucking wrong, mate. That's never leaving my head now."

He snickered and savored a big bite of mac and cheese. Chuck shot another look at the pair filling their trays from tubs the kitchen crew brought back out willingly enough.

"Oi, Raleigh?"

"Hm?" Seriously. The mac and cheese was amazing today. Someone, some saintly soul, had put bacon in it.

"Uh... before they get over here, I... sorta got you something, yeah?"

 _That_ got his attention off the mac and cheese of the gods. "You... when? You were only gone like ten minutes."

Chuck blushed, and it was perhaps the most adorable thing Raleigh had ever seen. The kid's freckles all but disappeared under the growing force of the red.

"Stopped by general supply and picked it up, yeah? Not like I had to leave the 'dome or anything." Fidgeting, the kid reached into his hoodie's pocket and pulled something out. "Just... here."

It was a journal-style paper notebook, just a little bigger than his hand, a thick-barreled ballpoint pen tucked into a handy loop along the spine. The cover was that perfect faded denim blue, Gipsy's logo stretching from the bottom right corner up to the top left. The pen matched -- faded blue and Gipsy's logo.

Grinning softly though he was a little confused, he popped the clasp to flip through the lined pages but paused when he realized the first page already had writing on it. In oddly neat capital letters that could only be Chuck's schematic-worthy print.

 

> **PROOF MY BROTHER LOVES ME:**
> 
> 1\. Thinks I'm a good dancer even though I suck.  
>  2\. Loves my French toast, says it's better than Mum's.  
>  3.

Oh. _Oh._

"I thought about getting a Striker one, but it's for you about your brother, not anything to do with me, so I figured this would be--"

"I love it."

His voice was choked, and he wasn't sure he wasn't about to have either another emotional outburst or an emotional shutdown. Chuck sat very still and tense at his side, nervousness written all over him.

"It's just right."

Holding his breath, hoping it wasn't a storm brewing inside his head, he pulled the pen out of its loop, put the journal down on the table, and wrote as neatly as he could while Chuck leaned close to watch.

 

> 3\. Says stargazing with me as kids is one of his happiest memories.

Chuck's voice was quiet when he spoke. "That's a good one, mate. You two do that often?"

"Yeah." He swallowed and tried to get himself together before Herc and Mako saw and.... "Yeah, we did. It was fun."

Touching the printed list almost reverently, he shook off some of the memories the last entry had brought up. He wasn't ignoring them; it just wasn't the time. They were good memories, and he wanted to think about them when he could really give them the attention they deserved.

So, swallowing hard, he closed the journal, slid the pen back into its loop, and tucked the whole works into his own hoodie's pocket. Then, he looked at Chuck, who looked cautious but also curious, and quirked a crooked grin. Relief immediately filled those freckled features, and Raleigh couldn't help but elbow the kid, who elbowed him back with a little smirk.

"Good to see you out and about, boys." Herc sat down and settled his tray with a wide grin. "How ya feelin', son?"

Raleigh could see just how much the kid wanted to smirk and hoped he wasn't blushing. Mako would see it and know in a second. Then again, from her silent glance from Chuck to Raleigh and back again before she sat down on Herc's left, maybe she already did. Hell, for all he knew, she'd probably figured it out days ago.

"Oi, I'm fine, yeah? Bit of a headache, but good."

Which meant headrubs later. Grinning and trying to hide it, Raleigh tried to focus on his excellent mac and cheese.

"Right, then." Herc dug into his oversized helping of chicken pot pie with relish. "So Mako and I put our heads together, and it turns out we both have the evening free. You boys up for a family movie night?"

Chuck raised an eyebrow.

"I'll bring Max."

Raleigh and Chuck exchanged a speaking look, and the kid shrugged. It was almost as if they'd had a conversation out loud and reached agreement. Raleigh couldn't help but grin again.

"Sold. Anything you guys are in the mood to watch?"

Mako opened her mouth to respond, but Chuck beat her to it. " _House._ They need to watch _House,_ yeah?"

Because everyone needed a Harold. Even Mako, who had found herself a new purpose and forgiven herself for the past and dealt with her grief like a mature adult instead of letting it consume her. Even Herc, who... okay, maybe especially Herc.

Grinning yet again, Raleigh elbowed the kid and shook his head fondly. Chuck elbowed him back with a smirk almost soft enough to be a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mako's eyes narrow.

_Oops._

"What's _House,_ then?" Herc seemed oblivious to the multiple silent conversations happening around him. Admittedly, the chicken pot pie was almost as good as the mac and cheese, so he had a good excuse. "And are we doing popcorn again? The popcorn was good, yeah?"

Suddenly, Chuck brightened. "Oi, how about take-out? We're out of potstickers anyway, eh, Ray?"

Mako spoke up, looking suddenly smug, before Raleigh could reply. "That wouldn't have anything to do with you wanting a helicopter ride to the mainland, would it, Chuck?"

Herc glanced up, eyes wide. "Not a bad idea, actually. Get out for a bit, get some fresh air, yeah? I'll talk to your instructors, see if one of them can spare an hour or so later." He gestured at Chuck with his fork. "Might wanna get your vaccination before you go, though."

Chuck coughed, his neck turning red, and Raleigh had to look away to keep from laughing. Mako graciously kept the conversation rolling.

"I can call us in a few things ahead of time so you won't have to wait. They'll probably even deliver right to the helipad so you don't have to do more than land and take off."

Chuck grumbled, prodding at his green bean casserole. "Yeah, yeah, hilarious. I'll get the goddamn shot, all right?" Then, he brightened again. "Oi, got a human body pillow out of the deal, though, yeah? Wasn't all bad."

Herc nodded, not reading anything into the statement, but Mako smiled and tossed Raleigh a wink that had him ducking his head to hide a blush. The blush only deepened when Chuck snuck a hand under the table to give his thigh an affectionate squeeze.

Thanks mostly to Mako's guidance, the conversation turned to what they wanted for take-out and whether or not Herc and Mako would change into something comfortable like pajamas before settling in for the evening. Raleigh suggested they might want more comfortable chairs if they were going full slouch, especially since the extra rolly chair was still in Chuck's bunk.

That suggestion led to a surprisingly cheery Herc mentioning that, if he remembered right, there were some old armchairs in a storage room in the basement that probably just needed a good dusting and maybe a little bug spray. He'd ask Tendo about it later and see if some techs would volunteer to find them and clean them up.

It was... nice. A good lunch full of good plans for later in the evening. Yeah, he and Chuck would have a few hours to kill before heading for the heliport, but he had no doubt they'd fill the time. Maybe start beating Kaiju Krush so they could spar in their own jaegers sometime soon. Maybe just play some War while Chuck accused Raleigh of cheating.

Maybe make out for a while. It was a toss-up.

But when they went their separate ways to finish up their separate afternoons, Raleigh suddenly realized how lucky he was. For the longest time, he'd just... existed. Lived as an alternative to dying, and only that because Yancy would have killed him in the afterlife if he'd done anything to actively end his life. Not that he'd really thought it through like that.

But now? Somehow, he had... family. People who cared about him, that he cared for in return. No, it wasn't perfect. The journal corner prodding his stomach as he walked side-by-side with Chuck back to his room was proof of that. He needed a lot of work.

But he admitted that. And it was okay. Chuck knew more of his shit than anyone but Mako -- maybe more, even, since Raleigh hadn't allowed himself to think about it too closely until... no, not even after Pitfall. He hadn't allowed himself to think about it until he and Chuck started getting to know each other, which necessarily meant sharing background. But Chuck knew his shit and was still willing to be with him, and if that wasn't a miracle, nothing was.

And Herc... needed help. The good marshal needed a Harold, someone to tell him he might want to revisit therapy even if he didn't have time for it. Someone to tell him that Chuck needed him to try, because they'd never get anywhere with only one of them doing the heavy lifting. Maybe Raleigh could be that for him.

Grinning to himself, he admitted that Mako was probably much better suited to that job. Raleigh still had too much of his own work to do before he wouldn't sound like a hypocrite.

But the groundwork was there, and he was so goddamn lucky, and he hadn't even realized. He'd been alone for so long that he hadn't even realized he wasn't alone anymore. The feeling of it -- a weird pressure in his chest that was both light and heavy at the same time -- swelled until he reached out and grabbed Chuck's hand as they walked ridiculously slowly back to his bunk, suddenly needing an anchor to keep from floating away with it.

Chuck didn't argue, though he shot him a curious look as he threaded their fingers together. "You all right, then, mate?"

"Yeah, yeah." But he shook his head. And grinned. Because it was all confusing and he couldn't seem to get his reactions straight. "Just... I may be the luckiest fucker in the world."

One ginger eyebrow rose. "Frankly, I've come to the conclusion that you must be a goddamn cockroach. You've lived through some real shit, yeah?"

A laugh jumped out of him, and he shoulder-checked the brat without letting go of his hand. "Chuck, you should know that I feel the same way about you."

Smirking with both dimples, the kid shoulder-checked him back. "Aren't we the two most romantic fucks to live through the end of the world?"

"Put that way, it sounds like there's not much competition."

The kid rolled his eyes. "Still can't take a fucking compliment." Raleigh's bunk was in sight, but they slowed further without consulting on it. "Oi, Ray?"

"Hm?"

"I was thinking, yeah? Had kind of an energetic morning, if you'll remember."

Raleigh rolled his eyes, even as he felt his neck warming up and guessed he was blushing yet again. Dammit.

"So I was wondering... if you might... y'know, maybe read to me this afternoon? We could use a nap, since it seems like we'll be up entertaining tonight, yeah?"

They stopped at the foot of Raleigh's stoop, holding hands and not quite looking at each other, both feeling sheepish and ridiculous and... happy. Well, Raleigh felt happy. He guessed Chuck probably was, too, what with the embarrassed, hopeful little grin on the kid's face.

So he did the thing. He'd always been impulsive. No sense changing now.

"As you wish."

Chuck sagged with relief and started up the steps. "Oi, thanks, mate. It's just been a while since you did that, and-- oi, hold the fuck up." He stopped on the top step, Raleigh's hand still in his even though he hadn't followed him up the steps. The kid's eyes went wide. "Raleigh, did... did you just say 'I love you'?"

Smirking, Raleigh trotted up the steps and right past the big jerk standing so pole-axed with his wide grey eyes and his dropped jaw and those fucking freckles. "No, I said 'as you wish'. You going deaf in your old age, Hansen?"

But that adorable face lit up even as the brat tried to tone it down. "Fuck you, Ray. I know what I heard."

And, well, Raleigh saw no reason to argue. So he just grinned and opened the door and tugged his Great Australian Octopus inside.

It was going to be a long night.


	38. EPILOGUE

Herc didn't notice until a good halfway through the movie. They weren't obvious about it, see? They weren't hiding it, apparently, but... it took him a while.

But once he saw it, he couldn't unsee it. Raleigh's hand on Chuck's thigh. Chuck's arm around Raleigh's shoulders. And then, Chuck turned his head and outright nuzzled Raleigh's temple, and the bloke didn't so much as grumble about it. In fact, the poor sod just... smiled softly and tilted his head further into the nuzzling.

He opened his mouth, ready to blurt his epiphany to the world, but Mako's tiny little hand clamped down on his forearm, her fingers employing so much more strength than something so small should contain. He looked at her, wide-eyed, but she only shook her head.

She... she knew? How the hell did she know?

But... his boys... they were like brothers, yeah?

He lost complete track of what was happening on Raleigh's newer, much better display -- although he had to admit, what he'd seen of the movie was funny as hell, and he'd have to add it to his own queue to watch again later -- because he couldn't stop sneaking glances at the absolutely-not-platonic cuddling going on over there against the wall.

Nothing inappropriate, though. They weren't, like, making out or anything embarrassing. Nothing that would disturb Max, who was sleeping soundly, curled up at Chuck's other side. Just... snuggling. Together.

And fuck if they didn't look happy. Together.

Maybe... maybe it didn't change anything. They were still his kids, yeah?

So, after a while, he leaned over and tugged on Mako's sleeve to get her to lean close enough for a whisper.

"How long should I wait before asking about grandkids?"

She jerked away, her eyes wide. "Marshal, no."

"Oi, everything all right over there, Dad?"

But he just grinned and settled back into the plushy armchair Tendo's techs had dragged up and cleaned for them. _Everything's more than all right over here,_ he thought.

_Everything is juuuuuust fine._

Smirking in the near-dark, Hercules Hansen began to plot his new military strategy.

His kids didn't stand a chance.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who made it this far, thank you so much for sticking with me. You guys are awesome.
> 
> And, again, thank you, estei. I'd have put this one on the backburner indefinitely if you hadn't been interested in what else these two clownshoes were up to in this version of canon post-film. Thank you so much for reading and commenting and headcanon-ing with me.
> 
> Also, QueenUndertheBloodyMountain wrote a companion piece of Chuck's next therapy session! It's wonderful! Go read it here: [The Waiting Game](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7565497). They really capture the essense of this version of Chuck and make a real character of his therapist, who I never had a chance to put on the page. Thank you so much!


	39. Soup Recipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand, here's the recipe/process of making Raleigh's "health in a pot" soup. I'm so stoked that so many people are interested, and I hope you guys make you some killer-awesome homemade soup!
> 
> Just remember - this is the basics only. Every pot I make turns out a little differently, and that's good. Make it to YOUR taste. It looks like a lot of effort on the page, but it's really not that much in practice. And not everything has to be homemade. You can just buy a cooked rotisserie chicken and frozen egg noodles, for example, and cut out a lot of time/effort.
> 
> Anyway, I'm a bad monkey who doesn't do much measuring, but I'll do my best to be as precise as I can.

**You will need:**

1 whole chicken  
¼ cup apple cider vinegar  
1-2 bay leaves, to taste  
1-2 tablespoons minced garlic (buy a jar pre-minced with juice; you won't regret it)  
1 tablespoon minced ginger (optional, but it's something of a cure-all and super flavorful)  
kosher/sea salt (yes, you can use regular table salt, but I like kosher better)  
black pepper

1 pkg. celery (tops cut off for the broth, 3-4 ribs for the soup)  
1 medium onion (yellow or white)  
3-4 carrots (or a handful of baby carrots, but I think they're too sweet)  
3-4 medium russet potatoes (or 6-8 red or yellow potatoes)  
dried basil  
dried sage  
dried thyme  
dried parsley  
egg noodles, either frozen or homemade (instructions for homemade at the end) but **_not dried_**

crockpot  
stock pot  
long-handled spoon  
collander/strainer  
  
_[Note: 1-qt glass jars are handy, but not mandatory. You won't use all the broth at once, so you'll need something to store/freeze the rest, and a quart of broth diluted with a quart of water is the best ratio for this recipe.]_

**  
Broth Instructions:**

This soup's health-inducing awesomeness starts with the broth, which starts with a roasted chicken. I prefer to roast one myself ("350°F for 20 min per pound plus 15 minutes" is your most basic chicken-roasting procedure), stuffing the cavity with wedges of lemon, apple, and onion and slathering the entire skin with herbs and butter melted together. I like to rub the butter mix over AND under the skin on the breast, but for sure get it all over the outside.

But if you don't have time/energy/patience for that (we've all been there), a fully-cooked rotisserie chicken purchased from any grocery store works, too. I recommend lemon pepper so you keep that nice zing of lemon for the broth.

Pick most of the white meat off (and some of the dark meat from the thighs, if you like, but leave some of the dark meat to flavor the broth) and refrigerate to use later in the soup. I recommend eating a little, especially if you roasted it yourself. It's delicious.

Keep the skin with the bones and leave the stuffing inside.

Pull out the ol' crockpot. A larger crockpot will net you more broth, but it won't be as rich, so I use my slightly smaller one and dilute later.

First, cut the leafy tops off the celery and throw them in the bottom of the crock. Add minced garlic. Garlic is a natural antibiotic and good for your heart, so if you like it, put in as much as you want. Add minced ginger because it tastes awesome and is ridiculously good for you (or, because mincing ginger is frustrating, just lop off a few half-inch chunks from the root).

Go easy on the salt at this point - you can always add more later, but if you oversalt at the start, you'll have to dilute later. I recommend no more than two tablespoons to start. Black pepper is good here, especially fresh-cracked, but again, don't go overboard. You can always add more later. Add bay leaf/leaves.

Place the picked chicken carcass on top of the celery leaves, etc. Splash ¼ cup of apple cider vinegar over the bones to help leach out the minerals. Don't worry - you won't really taste it later, but it's CRUCIAL. It does most of the work for you.

Fill the crock with water until just below the rim. Some recipes recommend filling to an inch below the rim, but the longer you crockpot, the richer your broth will be, and it won't come to a rolling boil or anything, so you can fill a little more if you want.

You don't have to stir or anything. Just put the lid on, plug in the crockpot, and turn it on low. Check your settings; some crockpots have a "keep warm" setting, but don't use that to actually cook. Always use "low" here.

Leave it for at least 8 hours. I prefer overnight and even through the next day, if you work. 12-15 hours is good to shoot for for thick, rich, health-filled broth.  


**Soup Instructions:**

When it's ready, turn off and unplug your crockpot. It will be HOTTER THAN THE FIRES OF HELL, so please use potholders and be wary of spills, as the broth is like lava and the richness makes it hard to wash off quickly, making for a worse burn.

Put your stock pot in the sink basin and place the collander/strainer over the top edge. USING POTHOLDERS, heft the crock up out of the pot and carefully dump the entire contents into the strainer. Watch out for steam, because it's seriously hot. Not exaggerating. SUPER HOT. Please don't get burned.

Set the crock back in the pot (it's just handy to keep it out of the way until you're ready for clean-up). Lift the strainer (if it's plastic, you're okay bare-handed, but if it's a metal one, keep using your potholders) and give it a little shake to shift the bones around and release any sneak-broth from inside the chicken cavity. You can even smoosh with a wooden spoon if you like, but don't GRIND it. Gritty broth is not good broth.

Toss the bones/vegetation. If you have a wire strainer, it can be beneficial to run the broth through it and into another pot, just to make sure you get out any fragments, but it's not a dealbreaker if you don't.

If you're using glass jars, this is a good time to pour off the broth you won't be using now, as it's easier to measure out a quart that way. Otherwise, assume about half the broth should stay and half the broth should go into a storage container to be refrigerated overnight, then frozen for future use.

However much broth you decide to use, add an equal volume of water to dilute in your stock pot. Give it a little taste to see if it's salted enough for your tastes. Keep in mind that all the vegetables and herbs will add flavor as well. Add more pepper, if you like, or more minced garlic.

Not gonna lie: I'll sometimes add either a beer or a dash of champagne/white wine to the broth. It makes for an awesome flavor. If you do so, don't use quite so much water.

Chop/dice your vegetables - celery, carrots, potato, onion - as coarse or small as you like. If I'm sick, I don't want big chunks. If I'm just in the mood for soup, I like hearty pieces.

Turn the burner under the stock pot on high to get it started and toss in your veggies and however much of the reserved chicken you like. Stir occasionally until it starts to boil, then reduce the heat to medium-high and let it simmer until the carrots and potatoes are as done as you want them.

Taste frequently to... test the texture. Yeah. That's the ticket.

If you're making your own egg noodles, now is the time. Instructions for that at the end.

When your veggies are right where you want them, add your choice of dried herbs. I prefer LOTS of basil, so I cup my hand and fill my palm (probably a heaping tablespoon or more). Otherwise, about a teaspoon apiece.

Stir to distribute, then add your noodles. Don't just throw them all in one bunch, even if you're using store-bought frozen, because they'll just clump together in a mess. Add them a scant handful at a time while stirring constantly. If you've made your own, you'll notice that the excess flour will thicken your broth. Don't worry - it's good. If it gets too thick for your liking, you can always water it down and salt to taste.

Keep stirring until the noodles are well-separated and distinct, then stir occasionally until they're cooked to your preference (5-10 minutes?). Homemade noodles will swell - again, no worries. They'll just take up some broth volume is all.

When the noodles are done, you are ready to feast. I like to serve over creamy sour-cream-and-butter mashed potatoes, but if you're sick and eating this to help your body fight it off, that'll be too rich for your system. The herby steam will help clear your sinuses, and the ginger/garlic/broth will help your system fight off the plague.

Enjoy! Feel better soon!

 

**Homemade Egg Noodles:**

I prefer to make a double batch for this big a pot of soup, but you won't always need that much, so here's the list for a single batch:

1 large-to-jumbo egg  
½ teaspoon salt  
water  
white flour

_[I'm sure there was an actual recipe for this at some point, but my family and I have been making these forever with the same by-touch method. Yes, you can substitute some of the white flour with wheat, but it makes for a weird texture and will be much drier/breadier. Not my thing, but rock out.]_

Crack your egg as close to "in half" as you can and dump into a mixing bowl. Fill an eggshell half with cool water, add to egg, fill it again, add to egg. Basically, you want equal ratios of egg and water. Add salt and beat with a fork until well-mixed but not too frothy.

Add two handfuls of flour and stir in with a fork. Add another handful and stir in. If dough is still too soft and damp, add another scant handful. You don't want it too dry or hard, but you do want it to start firming up and not sticking so badly. I imagine this is about a cup and a half of flour at this point, give or take.

Heavily dust a broad, flat surface. Scrape dough out, using a spoon or spatula if needed. Dust with more flour and knead gently, bringing all the sticky bits together until the dough is soft and elastic but not as sticky. Again, don't go too dry/hard or your noodles will be bready and heavy.

Flour under and over the dough and roll it out thin. It'll be stretchy and try to shrink back, but just keep rolling. If it sticks to the table, add more flour underneath. Egg noodle thickness depends on your taste. I like mine pretty thin, but thick is okay if you like.

When you have the dough as thin as you like, heavily dust the top all the way to the edges and roll it lengthwise like a jellyroll. You **_do not_** want anything sticky, and any excess flour will shake off later or just thicken the broth, so use as much as you think you need.

With a floured knife, slice the roll crosswise into narrow strip-rolls, again to your personal taste. I like around half an inch or less. Unroll the strips (which is why you used a lot of flour before you rolled it up) and break off pieces as long or short as you want - two or three finger-widths is a good gauge for starters. Scatter the pieces in the flour so they don't stick and allow to air-dry until it's time to add them to the soup.

Cook as described in the recipe, stirring frequently and adding by scant handfuls so they don't clump up and cook into a chunk.

Enjoy!

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Waiting Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565497) by [iOnlyDateSuperheroes (QueenUndertheBloodyMountain)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenUndertheBloodyMountain/pseuds/iOnlyDateSuperheroes)




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